


Shenanigans and Blarney

by lady_ataralasse



Series: Shenanigans & Blarney [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Drinking, Drinking Games, F/M, Fellatio, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Innuendo, OMG so much angst, Reader-Insert, Romance, Sam's Neck Sweat, Sex Dreams, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Spanking, St. Patrick's Day, Texting, Vaginal Fingering, Wordcount: Over 100.000, sorry Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 163,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ataralasse/pseuds/lady_ataralasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine going to the bar on St Patrick’s Day with Team Free Will<br/>Author: Lady Ataralasse (http://ladyataralasse.tumblr.com/  @LadyAtaralasse)<br/>Reader Gender: (female)<br/>Pairings: You/Sam, Castiel/Dean(implied), You/Dean(mild)<br/>Warnings: swearing, smutty thoughts and eventual smutty content<br/>image credit: http://j-padalecki.org/imgs/thumbnails.php?album=535</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rules of Shenanigans and Blarney: a drinking game created by SpartanBard for Saint Patrick's Day 2014

**The Rules of Shenanigans and Blarney:**

If ye break one of the sacred rules of St Patrick's Day, there must be penance to appease the fae, or they'll take you away to their fairy raft ne're to return and most likely to spend the rest of yer' days servicing Oberon, King of the fairies. Most folk know that if you are not wearing green on Saint Patrick’s Day, you may be pinched. However, if you are pinched by someone who is _also_ not wearing green, you may call ' _Shenanigans_.' If the pinchee calls ' _Shenanigans_ ,' the pincher must pay a penalty to the pinchee of either seven spankings or a purchased shot at the pinchee’s discretion. However, if _'Shenanigans'_ is called falsely and the pincher _is in fact_ wearing green, the pincher may call _'Blarney_.' If _'Blarney'_ is called, the pinchee must pay the penalty of either seven spanking,s or a purchased shot at the pincher’s discretion. The offended party may call a proxy to administer or receive spankings for any reason.

Also, if you can make up an exception rule on the spot under the influence of at least two drinks of Irish origin, you may escape penalty. For example, If you are wearing undergarments of a golden spangled nature, you may fall under the same protections as those wearing green out of respect for the Leprechauns and may therefore call _'Blarney'_ at your leisure. Or if the person breaking the sacred rules of Saint Patrick’s Day questions the appropriateness of penalty and loses the challenge you may call Double Blarney or Double Shenanigans as appropriate and the penalty is both a shot and seven spankings any unreasonable delay in paying the penalty, and the penalty doubles.

So good luck, and pinch with care whether your goal is to be penalized or to dish out penalties. So good luck, and pinch with care whether your goal is to be penalized or to dish out penalties. 

(Thank you, SpartanBard: http://spartanbard.tumblr.com/post/79923105096/the-rules-of-shenanigans-and-blarney)


	2. Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Kevin begin to lay the groundwork for a night out with team Free Will on Saint Patrick's Day while you nurse your crush on Sam Winchester.

_Music: The Rocky Road the Dublin by the Dubliners; Reel Around Sun by Riverdance; and Dark Star by Jaymes Young_

You had been living in the bunker for awhile now with Castiel, Kevin, Sam, and Dean. As you had a pulse, you naturally were attracted to all four of them, but it was clear to you that Castiel was more interested in Dean’s company than yours or Sam’s. You and Kevin loved to joke around, but he was more like a brother and while you and Dean flirted and there seemed to be chemistry there, you couldn’t resist Sam. Maybe it was his intelligence, you could always talk to Sam about anything for hours. Or maybe it was the way he could manage to be sensitive and thoughtful and somehow remain manly. Maybe it was his puppy dog eyes, and his incredible hair that you were dying to run your fingers through. It was hard to pin down. What you were certain of was that it was time for you to see if you could get Sam to make a move. You could make a move yourself, of course, but ultimately, you preferred to set the stage, provide opportunity and see what Sam would do. You wanted him, sure, but you wanted to be sure he wanted you too. You’d been carrying a torch for him for far too long to just get him drunk and seduce him. Still, there was nothing wrong with a little social lubricant to ease the way. You just needed a little luck and a golden opportunity. Thank Guinness for Saint Patrick’s Day.

It was all a matter of playing it right. You knew you could count on Dean to get you all out to the bar as if it was his idea. You just had to nudge him in the right direction. So maybe you made an Irish-inspired breakfast for everyone and had some Celtic pub music playing, something that wouldn’t make anyone’s ears bleed at breakfast, but would set the tone. You even had Jameson to add to the morning coffee.

You knocked on their doors when the food was ready and tried not to choke on your own tongue as they answered their doors, Sam in his plaid pajama pants and v-neck shirt and Dean also in flannel pants, but still pulling the shirt over his head. You weren’t sure which one you wanted to throw back into bed, which was sort of telling, since Dean in his state of greater undress, seemed like the obvious choice, but your eyes kept straying to Sam's v-neck and the way his hair was all over the place.

 “I made breakfast.” You cajole, in low, enticing tones. “You don’t have to talk; just follow me. I have strong Irish coffee, whiskey baked beans, and eggs with maple sourdough bread.” They followed you like cartoon wolves after the scent of steak. Along the way, you knock on Kevin's door too, and he ambles out. You ruffle Kevin’s hair a little because you can. It's an affectionate thing between you, like Kevin tugging the ends of your hair when he walks past. It was probably best that Sam was too tall to reasonably brush through his hair with your fingers, that would never be an innocent, playful gesture.

Dean and Sam sat down at the table and dug into the food making sounds that were positively filthy in their enjoyment. Every moan and groan of culinary pleasure went straight to your panties, and you were sure you would soak them through. You tried to make sure you weren't squirming too obviously in your seat while you ate. Kevin just glanced between the brothers and you, trying not to snicker. Kevin was the only one in the bunker who knew how you felt about Sam.

Castiel chose that moment to walk in the room. “I thought you said watching porn was something you did alone and not in the kitchen.”

Sam and Dean nearly choked on their food while you try to find a reasonable way to respond, shaking your head to clear all thoughts of having Sam for breakfast. “Um, Cas. We’re just enjoying breakfast, not watching porn. You want some?”

“No thank you. I do not think I would be able to enjoy it as much as you four clearly are.

“Your loss, man.” Dean moaned between mouthfuls. “This is fucking amazing.” He turns to you, “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s Saint Patrick's Day. I thought it would be nice to get in the spirit a little bit.”

“Saint Patrick’s Day! Excellent! Drunken debauchery, shamrock shakes, shamrock pie, and socially endorsed pinching of strangers! We are going out tonight!”

You decided to play dumb. Sometimes, it was fun being the coyote in sheep's clothing. “What was that about pinching strangers?”

Dean grinned wolfishly. “It’s a well-known fact that anyone not wearing green on Saint Patrick’s Day can be pinched freely. Also, anyone claiming to be Irish.”

“That seems like a contradiction.” Cas pointed out.

“No.” Dean clarified. “If you’re not wearing green or you’re wearing something that says ‘pinch me, I’m Irish,’ you can be pinched. Otherwise, you’re safe.”

Well hell with playing it safe, you think, but for the benefit of the charade, you pretend to hem and haw.

Kevin was the first to chime in. "I'm in. Anything to get out in the real world again for a night."

Dean and Kevin look at you.

Kevin is already in on your plan, he's just playing along, playing the part of persuading you. "Come on. It'll be fun, and you're already in the Saint Patty's Day spirit."

You shrug, smiling, looking anywhere but at Sam. “I _suppose_ , if _every one's_ going that could be fun.”

Dean grinned and turned to Sam. “Come on Sam, it's like ten in the morning. You still have about twelve hours to bury your nose in the books before things get interesting topside."

Sam looked at you and Kevin while you pretend to be discussing how to help Kevin pick up girls, instead of hanging on his every word. “Sure, let’s go out. It might even be fun.”

Dean grinned. "That's the Saint Patty's Day spirit, Sammy. If nothing else you can watch ______ help Kevin pick up chicks. That should be hilarious."

"Hey!" Kevin called out in protest.

"Hilariously successful." You snark back. "I am awesome at picking up people, and Kevin is my padawan."

 "You are awesome at picking up _men_." Dean corrected. "Supposedly. Not that we've ever seen these mythical men."

He had a point. You hadn't seriously picked up anyone since you started hunting with the Winchesters. You stretched your skills, sure. You got offers, sure, but your heart just wasn't in it. What was the point? Even if you brought home one of the few men that you actually were attracted to lately, even Cas might notice how much he looked like the younger Winchester. But that wasn't exactly information Dean needed to have to make your point. "I'm a woman, therefore, I know how to pick up other women, and I know how to lay ground work. Kevin is going to be swimming in skirt tonight."

Sam chuckled, still eating while Dean rolled his eyes. "And what about you?" Dean shot back. "Kevin going to be helping you pick up all the leprechauns you can handle or will you be swimming in skirt as well?"

You and Sam both nearly choked on your food for the second time in fifteen minutes.

Before responding, you swallow carefully. "I can get my own dates, Dean."

"Uh huh."

“The only skirt I may or may not be swimming in tonight, will be kilts."

"Kilts?" Dean pressed.

"Yeah, you know, Scottish men's wear." You waggle your eyebrows. "Easy access."

Sam nearly chokes a third time, and Kevin snorts with laughter. You’re starting to worry that Sam might asphyxiate before you even get him to the bar.

Dean lets it go at that, and you're grateful for it. You're not sure if he suspects the truth or thinks that you're interested in him, but you're glad he let it go.

As breakfast finishes up and Sam clears his dishes, he leans into your ear and whispers, "Thanks for breakfast, and nice _Star Wars_ reverence."

"Thanks Sam." You just want to cuddle right into that massive chest, tucking yourself under that sweet smile, but the timing's not quite right yet.

After breakfast, Dean and Cas head out to get shamrock shakes, shamrock pie, and shepherd's pie while you, Kevin, and Sam do research in the library. You're browsing through the stacks with Kevin while Sam searches on the internet for more information about fairy and leprechaun lore just in case. You try to stay on task, but knowing you're planning to make some sort of move on Sam later, just has thoughts of him filling your head more than usual. You keep winding up staring at him through the shelves while he works, but at an angle so Sam won't catch you.

"If you keep that up, you're never going to get anything done today." Kevin whispers in your ear. "It's not like if you stare at him hard enough, his clothes are going to burn off."

"You don't know that for sure." You hiss back. "Now shut up please; I am observing my quarry."

"Whatever. Come on. We need to get some actual work done before we go get ready."

You sigh. "Agreed."

You are trying not to over-think the entire situation. That's a classic rookie mistake you will _not_ be making. So you try to distract yourself. You find a handful of helpful books, and you and Kevin feed Sam enough information to make some handy fact lists for things to watch for while you're out and about if the fae are running amok. You lean near the screen while Sam types, discussing the finer points of fairy lore, you try not to let his amazing smell slowly destroy your ability to follow the conversation. Sam smelled like sandalwood and blood oranges, old leather-bound books, gunpowder tea, and the caramel candy he was nursing.

Needless to say, it nearly impossible to not bury your face in his hair where his neck and shoulder meet, but you thought you managed to be cool. Anticipation of the night ahead had you tuned into his details to such a degree that paying attention to him as a whole was becoming increasingly difficult. Like that damn caramel Sam was sucking on and the sounds he made as you could hear him sucking away, and then his tongue would slide across his lips, rounding up any errant sugar when he was talking to you. You didn’t know which was more distracting, the sound or the tongue, but both put you in mind of other fun things that involved sucking and tongue and maybe a few of those caramels. Yeah; it should be fabulous once the alcohol started flowing. If Sam wasn’t interested, things could get messy in a hurry. On the other hand, if Sam _was_ interested, things could get messy in a completely different way. That thought made you smirk in an expression Kevin referred to as your sphinx look.

Sam watched you as you spaced out playing both scenarios in your head. He found the transition between concerned frowning to devilish amusement as puzzling as it was fascinating, but you didn’t see him noticing. You just finished your thought process and headed back into the stacks.

Dean and Cas come back after a suspiciously long run for pie and milkshakes, and you find that Dean decided to make dinner: shepherd's pie from scratch.

"Dean, I didn't know you could cook." You tease.

"I can _read_. There are recipe books in here too." He replies defensively.

You exit the kitchen with your hands up in mock surrender and go back to the library nearly choking on your tongue as you see Kevin getting Sam to help him reach something on a top shelf. As Sam stretches up, you can see the skin of his stomach and rib cage. Another inch of stretching and you can see the waistband of his briefs. Kevin is winking at you now, and you are shamelessly praying Sam has belt failure. Fortunately or otherwise, Sam’s pants don’t show you any more of his underwear or anything else, but that didn’t stop your brain from putting an alternate history through your head on repeat.

An hour later, Kevin comes across the bit of fairy lore about their need to count every grain of spilled salt or sugar. After showing it to you, he teases, "I bet this tactic doesn't work on just fairies."

You shoot him a confused look, but then he walks to the table and "accidentally" knocks over a bowl of paperclips all over the floor around Sam's feet.

"Damn!" Kevin curses as you start to think that Kevin might have all the game he needs for the bar.

Sam bends over, picking up the paperclips, and you're seized by a wave of lust so strong you feel like it's strangling you. You're trying to remember how to breathe and the curve of that perfect ass is right there, in front of you, his legs going on for miles. You never understood that expression until now, but Sam's legs really do seem to be endless at the moment, and you kind of want to dive between them . . . to help him pick up the paperclips of course.

Kevin continues to sneak wicked glances at you when he's sure Sam won't catch him, and you're sure that soon they'll be mopping your brains off the floor as well as it slowly melts out your ears.

When Sam and Kevin finish picking up the paperclips, you retreat deep into the stacks to get your breathing back under control before Sam notices.

Castiel pops in from behind one of the shelves, catching your attention. “You are thinking some rather salacious things in regards to Sam.”

“Cas, please stop with the Jedi mind tricks.”

“You should know he has similar thoughts about you.”

“Because it’s rude and -Wait, what? Really?” You froze as Cas's words finally sank in, taking the air right out of your lungs.

“Yes.”

You inhaled slowly, considering what Cas's words meant for you and your plans. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to see if he’s willing to walk through a door if I open it. “

“Why would he not walk through a door? Is this because human men prefer to hold open doors for women?”

“Actually Cas, in a way you’re not that far off from what I meant, but no. Sometimes men and women prefer for the other person to make a move first to know that they’re wanted.”

“But if he is having similarly lustful thoughts doesn’t that by definition mean, as humans would say, that he wants you?”

“Wanting someone and wanting to act on it are different things, Cas. You of all people should know that by now.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Come on Cas, I know there’s someone you have pizza-man thoughts about. Even if you don’t use your Jedi mind tricks on _him_ , and I get why you wouldn’t want to, you’re observant enough to know what I mean.”

“How do you know? Do you have ‘Jedi mind tricks’?”

“No. I just pay attention.”

“But you don’t notice the way Sam is around _you_.”

“It’s harder to see clearly when you get emotionally invested.”

“Yes, I have noticed that since I started my assignment with the Winchesters. Why do you think I wouldn’t want to use my ‘Jedi mind tricks’ on _him_ then?”

“Because when you love someone, you don’t want to find out how they feel with tricks or subterfuge. You want it to be real, and you want them to be ready for you to know. And when you love someone, you respect them too much to snoop. Plus, _his_ mind is sort of a scary place.”

“Yes, it is. Sometimes it’s hard not to use my ‘Jedi mind tricks,’ but I do put more effort into not reading _his_ thoughts. It has seemed more invasive to do so as I have become more invested in what I might find, but I don’t snoop in your mind because I don’t respect you. I just want you to be happy.”

“So do I, Cas.” You look at him shrewdly in that way that Sam calls your Cas look. It makes the others feel like you’re looking into and through them when you’re about to be particularly insightful. “You were snooping to see if I had feelings for _him_ too.”

“Yes. I did not know if you had feelings for both brothers or one in particular. You are often very familiar with both of them . . . and me and Kevin and Charlie, Garth . . .”

“I’m a big flirt, you can just say it. You don’t have to make a list.”

“Good because the list would be substantial. We would be here for quite awhile . . .”

“Cas!”

“Sorry.”

“I _am_ attracted to both of them, and I _do_ enjoy flirting with both of them, but you don’t need to worry about me, Cas.”

“I know that now.”

“I don’t have the answer you _really_ want, but I’ll see if I can create a door for you.”

“I would appreciate that.”


	3. Blarney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Team Free Will Head out to the local Irish Pub for some overdue Shenanigans.

__

_Music: The Rocky Road the Dublin by the Dubliners; Reel Around Sun by Riverdance; Dark Star by Jaymes Young; and One Line by PJ Harvey_

Through dinner, it's your turn to moan while you eat Dean's shepherd's pie, which is mostly less dirty than it sounds or at least if it is dirty it has nothing to do with you and Dean. Sam is moaning too, and you both wind up catching each other's eye and trying to act like it's about the food and not weird or suggestive to be moaning and swallowing and making eye contact at the same time, but eventually your phone buzzes with a text from Kevin:

KevinT: If you two have eye sex any harder, you're going to set fire to the table.

You: Bite me

KevinT: Bite Sam. You've been thinking about it all day.

You: :P

You quickly sleep your phone and slide it into the side of your boot before Dean gets any ideas and grabs it out of your hand, like some school teacher. Sam and Dean watch you curiously, but ignore it when Cas starts asking Dean if there are shepherds in the pie, and why we are resorting to cannibalism. At this point, you’re not sure if Cas is being serious or trying to help you, but it works either way.

When you finish, you all head to get showers and change in shifts. Kevin is wearing a emerald green suit and black shirt and green matching fedora, sort of a play on Barney Stinson's Saint Patty's Day suit in _How I Met Your Mother_. You two found it thrift shopping a few weeks ago when the plan started to form.

"Trust me," you tell him, admiring the full effect of the suit on Kevin. "You are going to be the hottest dressed guy at this bar. You're rocking the hot, adorable asian guy look. I'll tell the girls you're my lucky charm, and you just keep playing along. I mean, it's such a smokin' look it's ridiculous. You look fun and stylish, but still respectably masculine."

Kevin is not convinced. "Sam and Dean are going to laugh until they cry."

You straighten his tie and pat his shoulders encouragingly. "Until you get your first few girls on the line. Trust me."

Kevin smiles, coming around. "OK. Sounds like a plan."

You decide to wear brown-black boots, a chocolate brown skirt that cuts mid thigh, and a deep blue tank top with ruching under the bust to the waist and off the shoulder ruffles that make you feel like a pirate wench. The cut is low enough and supportive enough that you catch yourself checking out your own rack, which can only mean it works.

Kevin gives you the approving once over. "Damn. You really won't have trouble getting your own dates tonight."

You smile, flattered. "Aww, thanks, but I only really want the one."

Kevin sighs, all joking on pause for the moment, putting his hands on your shoulders. "I know, but focus on having _fun_. Even if tonight doesn't go the way you want, it doesn't mean it's hopeless, maybe just the wrong night."

Your smiled drops off like a stone. "Are you suggesting you spent all day messing with my head until I can't think about anything but the person I want most, and you think tonight's _not my night_?!" If looks could, indeed, set things on fire . . .

"No, no, no." Kevin explains quickly, putting his hands up protectively. "I just think that you look amazing, and sooner or later he won't be able to resist you."

That settles you right down. Some guys always say the right things. " _Oh._ Thanks Kevin. Not just saying that so I'll help you get laid?"

He gives you a little hug. "Nope, that is just a side benefit to being the lucky charm of a great catch."

“How do you always say the right things?”

Kevin shrugs “I’m not trying to get into your pants. You’d be amazed at all the things a person can do with all that extra blood in the brain.”

You laugh and head towards the door. Sam and Dean are already waiting with Cas. Dean has managed to find Cas a green bowler hat with a shamrock that looks so adorable you can hardly stand it, but you can see that Sam and Dean are in their normal jeans and plaid flannel, not a bit of green to be seen.

You, naturally, state the obvious. "Cas is the only one of you three wearing green."

Dean looks at you, but you have you coat on, so they haven't seen you outfit yet. "So far as I can tell, neither are you. Looks like the rest of us are all getting pinched tonight!"

Kevin comes down the stairs in his bright green suit. "Not me, losers. I will be doing the pinching!" Kevin manages Dean's leprechaun jokes well ("We'll see who's laughing tomorrow.") and you all mill out the door and into the garage, before piling into the Impala.

Cas sits up front with Dean, leaving you, Kevin, and Sam in the back. Kevin slides in first, so you can sit next to Sam.

Once you’re all settled, Kevin catches sight of Castiel’s hat and leans in to whisper into your ear. “Did you get Cas his hat?”

“Nope, Dean did. I guess he didn’t want Cas getting pinched tonight.” You whisper back.

“At least not by strangers.” Kevin snickers.

Once you get into town, Dean finds parking a few blocks away from the pub, and you all pile back out to walk. Kevin notices Sam coming up behind you and moves ahead to continue exchanging barbs with Dean. Sam gives you a sideways smile that you return and falls into step beside you, taking one step for every two of yours. He leans down to your ear as you approach the Irish pub down the street, shaking his head in amused skepticism like you all might be too old for this except Kevin. "Are we seriously going with _Dean_ to a _bar_ on _Saint Patrick's Day_?"

You smirk at him as you start taking off your coat, giving Sam his first eyeful of your outfit, and you are not disappointed as his mouth falls open. "Sir, I was given to understand that those _not_ wearing green on Saint Patrick's Day get pinched, and I'm here to collect." You sashay into the bar, feeling Sam's eyes on your ass and Dean's follow suit as you nudge past him to the bar. Kevin is right behind you. You turn to him as you move forward and whisper in his ear, “Stay in my wake. I have a plan.”

You nudge to the front of the pack at the bar easily, most of the crowd are male, and they catch sight of your top and your smirk before they part like the Red Seas before the Staff of Moses. A couple guys offer to buy you a drink, but you wave them off. “Thank you gentlemen, but I have to buy the first drink to toast with my friend here,” You indicate Kevin. “Maybe later.” You say it loudly enough that a few nearby girls can hear you. Then you buy three shots of whiskey and move into a flock of girls with Kevin beside you and hand him two shots of whiskey. You whisper to him, “You’re up in a minute; pick one to give the shot to when your see a golden opportunity.”

You address the women around you broadly. “Single ladies, would you join me in a toast this evening with my lucky charm to start things off right?”

“What are we drinking to?” One of them asks.

Kevin tapped your hand and took over without further introduction. “Ladies, may your drinks and your lovers always fill your needs, be there when you need them, and be smooth going down. May they never mistreat you, never deceive you, and never leave you in need of more!” As he finished, he handed a glass to a pretty girl with a Spanish look to her, who took it gladly.

“Cheers!” You call out, raising a glass and down it.

The girl who took Kevin’s offered shot tapped you. “Is he your boyfriend?”

You laugh casually. “I wish. He’s my lucky charm. And you should always buy a drink for your lucky charm at the start of the night, especially on Saint Patrick's Day.”

“Definitely.” She giggles.

You stick around, flirting with the girls right along with Kevin, talking him up and making sure he’s set for the night. Someone sends you and Kevin a round of five shots of whiskey. The waitress points to a corner of the bar and after a little effort, you manage to see who they’re from. You expect it to be Dean, but as you glance around, you see Dean talking to Cas on the other side of the bar. Then you see Sam raise a glass in your direction from where the waitress was pointing and the waitress puts a napkin with a note penned on it into your hand.

“A toast to the Lucky Charm Padawan and his Pick-up Master.”

You grin and nod at him, toasting to him with one of the shots.

Kevin, catching the exchange, leans in, “I’m set. It’s your turn to seize a golden opportunity. Go get him.”

“Yeah?”

“He looked ready to eat you alive when we came in, and he saw your outfit. He just sent you a drink and literally gave you the nod. It does not get more golden than this.”

You smirk at Kevin. “Well, we’ll see what he does if I open the door. Like you said, I’ll focus on having fun and see what happens.” You head back to the bar to get a Jameson and ginger to nurse for awhile.

While you're waiting for the bartender’s attention, you feel someone approaching behind you. Hunter instincts have you turning around to see Sam parting the crowd. It’s funny, how you and Sam can have the same effect on people for different reasons. While a few of the guys were probably admiring Sam’s physique, his towering height and powerful, broad shoulders were enough to encourage most guys to move out of his way. You could tell that Sam wasn’t entirely at peace with being seen as intimidating. He so often seemed to try to make himself seem smaller, but at the moment, he seemed to be using every inch of his size to clear a path to you. You watched men around you fade away as Sam clears the last eight feet. You grin a little too much at him, feeling the boldness of the whiskey in your blood, and then turn back to the bar, waiting for him to come to you.

Sam surprises you by giving your ass a solid pinch and grinning cheekily at you while his hand is still in contact with your right cheek. That’s your cue to call out: " _Shenanigans_!"

Sam takes his hand away from you like he’s been burned, now sporting hurt puppy eyes. "What? You said you were planning to collect on getting pinched." He's keeping his voice low, trying to not attract attention to the possibility that you aren't ok with being pinched.

"I call _Shenanigans_." You persist, slurring just slightly for effect. Absurd drinking games always sound more reasonable with a slight slur.

"What does that mean?" His confused puppy dog look is nearly enough to make you forget any stupid game, but the whiskey warming low in your belly helps you resist it for the time being.

You smile at him in a way you hope succeeds in being both roguish and reassuring and add a little Irish brogue to your slur, raising your voice so half the bar is listening. "It means that you broke one of the sacred rules of Saint Patrick's Day and now there must be penance to appease the fae, or they'll take you away to their fairy raft ne're to return."

"No, I didn’t,” Sam argues a little indignantly. (He is so cute when he's being indignant.) “You're not wearing green. People not wearing green on Saint Patrick's Day get pinched." Sam finishes the Guinness he had in hand when he walked over and sets the empty pint glass on the bar as he makes his point.

You raise your voice a little more, still grinning. "Yes, but you're not wearing green _either,_ and when a person not wearing green on Saint Patrick's Day pinches another person _also_ not wearing green on Saint Patrick's Day the pincher must receive seven spankings as penance.”

Sam was smiling now too, his eyes twinkling. You could tell that if nothing else, he was game for some good old-fashioned drunken tom foolery. “You’re making this up.”

You motion to the bartender for another whiskey and put it in front of Sam. “Sorry Sammy, now bend that sweet ass over, or you’re off to service Oberon, King of the fairies.”

Sam grinned, “Fine; you win.” Sam threw back the offered shot, bent over his bar stool willingly, and you obliged in the punishment to everyone’s amusement.

“Hell, yes I win.” You replied, punctuating each word with a solid smack on Sam’s delectable ass. It was utterly sinful how delectable that firm, round ass felt under your hand. "A round of Jameson and ginger for my-For Sam here for being such a good sport and for myself to ice my hand." You almost said for my friend, but you didn't want to give Sam mixed messages.

While you wait, Kevin sends you your third shot of whiskey with a texted thank you note: "Leaving w/ girl u met, Talia. My phone's GPS is on. Text you AM."

You show Sam the text, partially because you want to give him an excuse to lean closer. "Good for Kevin." You grin and shoot back the whiskey shot.

Sam watches you, impressed. “You sure throw back that whiskey like you’re Irish.”

You lean in towards his ear, with a wicked grin and murmur. “That’s not the only thing I like to shoot back down my throat.” You give him a saucy wink as you pull back, and Sam swallows hard, shifting in his seat like his pants are getting a little snug. Then Sam’s gaze shifts to your mouth, and it’s the signal you’ve been hoping for that he’s thinking what you’re thinking, that lets you know he’s thinking about kissing you, and you can almost feel his muscles tense. You can feel that he’s about to make a move.

Then it hits you that you should have Cas check out the girl Kevin’s leaving with and make sure she’s human. Nothing like having a mental whiskey delay. Talk about shitty timing. You groan and touch his hand and scanning around for Kevin. “Sam, I'm sorry, really sorry. Hang on a sec. I need to have Cas make sure that girl Kevin met is safe.”

You dart into the crowd and find Cas in the middle of a discussion about the Irish and British food with Dean at a nearby table, while Dean devours a plate of bangers and mash. You’re not even going to touch the level of innuendo happening at that table. Dean sees you approach and stops their discussion. In the brief silence that follows, you all hear a shout of “ _Shenanigans_ ” go up across the room. “Hey, nice little drinking game you’ve started.”

“Thanks. I try to bring the party. Speaking of which, Cas, can you subtly make sure Kevin is not about to go home with something that’s going to kill him?”

Cas gets up immediately, ever the soldier. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

 “Subtly, Cas!" You call after him as he’s heading towards the door and Kevin, "As in don't let them know you're checking up on her."

Your attention is split between watching Cas make sure Kevin is about to have some reasonably safe fun and Sam who is back at the bar, picking up your respective Jameson and gingers and carefully making his way over while you enjoy a long, hard stare. Taking advantage of your distraction, Dean maneuvers behind you and pinches your ass, causing you to squeal out, " _Shenanigans_!" while you jolt at the contact.

"I guess I owe you penance now." Dean was all cock-sure smiles starting to bend over for you to a second audience that’s starting to form. Sam had nearly closed the distance to you and Dean, part of the newly gathering crowd.

You smirked right back at Dean. He has no idea who he's messing with. "Indeed you do. In accordance with the sacred laws of the fae, you must now do penance. As the collector of _Shenanigans_ , you must buy me a drink."

"What?! Sam got a public spanking."

"When a person not wearing green on Saint Patrick's Day pinches another person also not wearing green on Saint Patrick's Day the pincher must either receive seven spankings _or_ buy the pinchee a drink as penance. I am not interested in spanking you at this time, so you owe me a drink."

"You're making this up."

"You dare to question the sacred rules of Saint Patrick's Day?"

Dean's chin went up. "Yes."

"Double _Shenanigans_!"

"What does that mean? Two drinks?"

"It means you owe me a drink _and_ get a spanking, and if you take more than seven minutes to get said drink, the penalty doubles."

"I'm honestly not sure whether to hurry or not."

"If you make me wait too long, I will start spanking Cas in proxy. The offended party may call a proxy to administer or receive spankings for any reason."

Dean held up his hands in surrender. "Ass moving towards bar."

Sam came up to you while you watch Dean head off for your shots. He hands you one of the drinks in his hand before locking his eyes on yours. You think he’s about to kiss you, but instead he reaches around to pinch your ass again.

Your hips bump into his as you jerk forward in response to his pinching your ass. Sam shifts the pinching hand around your waist, steadying you on your feet and pulling you against him. Suddenly very aware of Sam’s solid body against yours, you look up into his face and raised your eyebrows. "That ass of yours need some more heat, Sam?"

He's smirking. When did Sam start smirking?

He leans down so only you can hear him. "Maybe.” He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, slowly tucking it into place, his lips near your cheek. “Or maybe I'm here to call _Blarney_ on your ass."

You narrow your eyes, wondering how Sam managed to pick up the general premise of your made up game well enough to start making up rules of his own. This right here was the drawback of flirting with one of the smart, quiet ones . . . so many surprises. "What the hell is _Blarney_?"

Sam chuckles, and you can feel the vibration against your skin."When _Shenanigans_ is falsely called on a person who is in fact wearing green, it's called _Blarney_ and the offender must do penance."

"I see. And are you calling _Blarney_?"

"I am." His face was so close to yours it was almost dizzying.

Now it was your turn to put up your chin defiantly. "Prove it."

"Come with me."

Sam puts his drink on the table and leads you behind it, turning his back to the bar and lifting his shirt a little with one hand. Your eyes are so transfixed by the V lines of muscle and the dark hairs leading down into Sam's pants that it takes a minute before _y_ ou realize that his other hand is carefully lowering his zipper, showing you his green briefs that are nicely offset by the words "lucky you" in gold lettering front and center.  As all the blood rushes out of your brain, you dimly wonder if Sam heard your panties hit the floor about the time his zipper reaches the end of the metal teeth. He's very obviously keeping any real glimpse of anything under the briefs concealed, but you can still see the outline of some temptingly hard flesh under the fabric, pressing Sam's fly towards you. With great effort, you pry your eyes away from his crotch to his face where his mouth is curved in a triumphant, mischievous smile.

You look up at Sam like you've never quite seen him properly before. You're practically drooling by this point. Whatever game Sam wants to play, you're in. You gulp a few times, trying to resuscitate your tongue. "Well damn. So what's my penance? Shots? Spankings? Both? If you were wearing a kilt, I could inspect it. I'm certified."

Sam lowered his voice, his mouth near your ear again. “You now owe me your pot of gold." He leaned into your body while you stood there, paralyzed. He slowly rezips his pants, and you can hear every click of metal teeth like they movement is vibrating against your panties. You’d never seen Sam flirt this hard . . . ever. It was dizzying. When his pants were closed back up, he put his hands on your hips, keeping you close . . . as if you were going anywhere. "Well how about it?” He whispered, Sam’s mouth close enough to you that you could feel his breath on your neck and imagine his tongue tracing your ear, but just far enough that you never lost sight of that cocky smile. “I'll let you fondle my lucky charms if you let me finger your pot of gold."

It felt like you were on fire. When did Sam start talking like that?! You're fairly impressed with yourself when you manage a playful reply in spite of his efforts. "Now who's making stuff up?"

“You dare to question the rules of _Blarney_?” His face is a little closer now.

“I dare anything.” You move your face closer.

“Then I call _Double Barney_.” Closer.

“Does that mean I can get my hands your shillelagh as well?” Closer.

"I think that can be arranged.”

You’re not sure which one of you leaned in to close the gap, but suddenly the space between you is gone and all you can taste or feel or smell is Sam. His soft lips, firm and hot against your mouth, his tongue, sliding between your lips, testing, exploring, sliding over your tongue until your moaning into his mouth, hands sliding into his hair, and his waist, fingering the flannel covered muscle. You can’t hear anything outside your mingled panting. The intoxicating scent of sandalwood and pine filling your pores, drowning you. You can feel Sam’s hand, grabbing your ass, pulling you closer while his other hand cups your face, his thumb brushing your jaw, deepening the contact.

Dean returns with drinks and clears his throat a few times before you and Sam notice and pull apart. You have no idea when Cas came back, but as soon as you and Sam pull apart, Cas lets you know that Kevin's new friend is nothing to worry about. You thank Cas, but your eyes don't leave Sam's. Between the whiskey and his mouth, your entire awareness of the entire world has condensed to the space occupied by your two bodies.

Sam’s eyes don’t leave yours as he starts talking to Dean. "Dean, she'll have to take those and hit the road. She owes _Double_ _Blarney_."

“What nonsense are you making up now?” Dean flicked his eyes between you and Sam, rolling his eyes. “Why does getting laid have to be so complicated for you brainiacs?”

You look pointedly between Dean and Cas, snarking, “I don’t know, Dean. What’s your excuse?” Dean stands there open mouthed as you take the shots from him. “Cas, I need you to proxy Dean’s spankings. I think he needs about 14 now. He took awhile with these shots.” You said it matter-of-factly, as if this was a perfectly reasonable and not at all suggestive request. You thought you caught Cas raise an eyebrow in an expression of thanks as Dean stood there dumbfounded. He wasn’t saying no though.

"Also, Cas will have to take you home since I'm going to take _____ home in the Impala to pay her penalty." Sam chimed in.

You double-fisted your shots, while Sam got the keys from Dean, then Sam tossed you over his shoulder and took you home. You watched Cas start in on Dean’s punishment as you headed out the door.

Kevin was one hell of a lucky charm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least one more chapter to come.  
> Re: Updated version: So I realized in my haste to get this out into the world, that the bunker is way too far from anything to walk, so I revised a few sentences so they all drive into the town and park a few blocks away. Cas agrees to zap Dean home and Sam takes the keys.


	4. Lucky Charms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Sam get into all sorts of naughty Shenanigans

♪ _Flirting with Disaster_ by Young Beautiful in a Hurry  & _Dark Star_ by Jaymes Young♪

Once outside, the cold night air makes you feel the whiskey slide through you, blurring things that don’t matter, like the world beyond the six foot radius from Sam, none of that matters now. Your hands run over Sam’s jacket, reveling in the feel of him, solid and strong under the heavy fabric, but you're annoyed that there is so much of it separating your hands from his skin. Then there’s that magic moment of drunken inspiration when you realize that you can probably reach Sam's ass. You reach your arms down experimentally, telling yourself that you’re pretending to stretch. When you realize your arms are long enough, you press them against his back and run them down the back of Sam’s rib cage, indulgently, and then you slide your hands into Sam’s jeans, under his briefs, right against the skin, and moan.

Sam jerks forward at the feel of cold fingers against warm, sensitive skin. “Hey! What are you doing back there?”

"My hands are cold." You say it like your hands on his bare ass is the most obvious solution in the world. And gods, what an ass it is. Spanking Sam at the bar had been good fun, but this was better, much better. It was perfect: round, firm, . . . smooth except for a scatter of scars. You moan, appreciatively tracing the ones you could reach with your finger tips, wishing you could reach with your tongue. You circle your hands up and around, then smooth your hands down the center, rubbing at the base of his spine, then lower, lightly parting his cheeks, considering the consequences of dipping your hands further to trace all the way down his crack. Some guys freaked out, others loved it; the fact that Sam hadn't told you to stop yet made you think he was probably in the second category and that suggested an even more promising future than you originally imagined.

"Having fun back there?" Sam chuckled and continued to head to the Impala though perhaps at a quicker pace.

"Oh yes, I'm having a marvelous time, thank you. I'm just thinking how I'd like to spank this delicious bare ass until your scars stand out like white clouds against a red sky and then trace them with my tongue." You move your hands back out from the center, running your fingers over the flesh of his ass with just the pads of your fingers, just barely keeping your nails clear, reveling in the luxurious feel of him, like a de-clawed cat, going through the motion of sharpening it’s claws.

Sam made a strangled sound in his throat, wondering how you could keep your tone so conversational while you said things like that. When he spoke, his voice cracked a little. "I've never heard anyone wax poetry about spanking before.”

“Happy to introduce you to new things. With a little luck, I’ll introduce you to a few more new things and vice versa in the near future.” Sam makes another sound that’s almost like a throaty purr or pleasured growl, and you sigh in satisfaction. Definitely the second kind of guy; goodie. “We should toast to that when we get back to the bunker.”

Sam was laughing with you again, aware of your curious rhythm of turning him on almost to the point of pain and then distracting him with a random comment or a witty retort, edging him with little more than your words.

A few people walk past you looking at you curiously, and Sam smiles, adjusts you on his shoulder and keeps going. You take your hands out to make obscene gestures indicating that you and Sam were off to perform all sorts of debauchery together. Sam assumes you took your hands out of his pants to avoid awkward questions from strangers, even when everyone that passes you starts catcalling. He doesn't catch on until he sees your reflection in a storefront window while you essentially hand sign that you and he are about to engage in fantastic, mutual oral gratification.

Sam bounced you on his shoulder, chuckling and embarrassed. "Hey, settle down back there, or you're going to get a spanking when we get home."

"I'm confused. Do you want me to stop telling the nice strangers how I'm going to suck your impressive brains out through your massive cock while you eat me out until I scream? Or not?"

Sam just stopped moving for a minute, making another throaty noise and this time, balancing you with one hand on his shoulder so he could adjust his pants. Then he gave your left ass cheek several solid smacks and started walking again, but Sam seemed to be moving with care, and his voice was rougher when he spoke, but you could still hear a smile in his tone. "I told you to settle down."

You smack his ass right back. "And I (smack) told you (smack) to be more clear (smack) about what you (smack) want (smack) from me (smack)."

Sam waited until the coast was clear, stopped again, lowered you to the ground so you were facing him. Then he kissed you hard, pressing you up against a nearby store window. You wrap your legs around his waist, and Sam fills his hands with your ass, grinding his hips into you until you're keening with lust, and he's moaning right along with you. Then as suddenly as he swooped in, Sam pulls back, cupping your face and pinning you with his eyes just as surely as he had a moment ago with his hips. "That clear things up for you about what I want?"

You're nearly breathless, but you manage to flash a smile and pant out, "It's a start."You look him over, taking in the glint of mischief in his eyes. “I don't think I realized that you have such a naughty streak in you."

"I don't think I realized you had such a dirty streak in _you_."

You put out your hand, "______, pleasure to meet you."

Sam, cocked an eyebrow, kissing your hand and matching your sass syllable for syllable. "Sam Winchester, the pleasure is all mine." His lips linger on your knuckles, his breath warm and intimate.

"We'll see about that.”

There's a flash in his eyes: _challenge accepted_. Sam, flicks his tongue out, licking a stripe between your index and middle finger before sliding it roughly between them somehow making you feel like his mouth is between your thighs instead of your fingers. Sam grins as you start to moan, leaning heavily on the store window again while he laves the webbing between your fingers. Then Sam pulls back, flipping your hand and placing a parting open-mouthed kiss on your palm before standing. “Yes, we will. Soon.” Sam's eyes have you completely hypnotized, and you know he’s turned the tables, starting to edge you just as hard. You’re floating on a potent combination of whiskey and Sam when he picks you back up, and you’re both grateful the Impala is close.

It takes another block before your head clears enough for your attempt speech again. “Sam, you don’t have to carry me _all_ the way back.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I must be getting heavy.”

“Not so far. I mean, I’ve carried Dean before.”

“Good to know I’m lighter than Dean.”

“Besides, you’re not in any state to walk right now.”

“I can walk while drunk.”

Sam's skeptical. “How many have you had?”

“Four, maybe five."

Sam snorts skeptically.

"Fine six, but I’m still not that drunk, really.”

“You were holding onto me pretty hard at the bar when Dean came back.”

“Yeah, well, that was a strategic move, not an inability to stand properly.”

“Strategic?”

“Sure. Pretend to be so drunk you can’t stand, while remaining adorably apologetic and people will let you feel them up for balance.”

“What?!” Sam laughed. “So you were trying to feel me up inconspicuously?”

“Pretty much. See, not that drunk. I can still understand your big words.”

“Yes, you’re very impressively _functional_ right now.” He emphasizes functional as if it’s the most polite way he can refer to your verbal and physical torture.

You both laugh for a minute, and then your tone sobers for a minute. “I wouldn’t have unless I thought you would be ok with it. I mean, I have a code."

Sam chuckles. “Is that anything like a Pirate code?”

“Somewhere between a Pirate’s Code and a Knight's Code is _my_ code. Hey Sam, what’s between a knight and a pirate?”

“The law? Prison bars? Two swords?”

You're laughing so hard at Sam's retorts that you have to take a minute to catch your breath before you can reply. “Excellent guesses, but no.”

“I give up what?”

“On a good day: me.”

“Nice.”

"You know if you think about it, Dean is sort of like a pirate, and you’re sort of like a knight. Sir Sam, the valiant, taking home the damsel in distress.”

Sam snorted. “You’re hardly a helpless damsel.”

“You're right. This has more of an air of a Pirate carrying home his plunder.”

“Well I did express an interest in your pot of gold.”

“That’s true, very un-knight-like behavior. Also, I don’t think a knight would be showing me his small clothes in a bar.”

“Small clothes?”

“Undergarments. You _have_ to read _A Song of Ice and Fire_ Sam, seriously. And then there’s Dean protecting Cas’s virtue.”

“So I guess that makes me the pirate, on my way home to plunder your booty." Sam gropes your ass, jiggling it a little on "booty," making you giggle and squeal.

“Hey Sam, you know what Saint spells if you rearrange the letters?"

Sam considered for a few minutes. “Satin.”

“One guess what I’m wearing under this outfit.”

Sam slid his left hand up your left thigh, under your skirt, brushing his thumb over your ass cheek while making an approving noise in his throat that deepens to a groan when he feels your lace trimmed, satin cheekies.

“Cheating.” You moan into his back, bucking against his shoulder wantonly.

Sam chuckled. “You're the one who started the bare ass grabbing, don't forget."

You put your hands back under his jeans, feeling his green briefs appraisingly this time. “Nice undergarments by the way, were you hoping to get lucky?”

“I’d say it was less of a hope and more of a guarantee at this point.”

“Cocky are we?”

“ _Very_. I thought that if my 'proof of _Blarney_ ' didn't clear that up for you, grinding you against that store window might have clued you in.”

“There’s nothing hotter than sharp wit mixed with a dirty mind.”

“That’s precisely why I’m carrying _you_ home.”

When you finally reach the Impala, Sam puts you down and looks at you warily, leaning against the hood. “OK, so I’m fine to drive, but the issue is that I’m not sure you can be trusted not to be such a distraction that we end up crashing anyway. Do I need to tie you up, or can you behave yourself?”

You stroke your chin thoughtfully, pretending to consider his words with great care. “Being tied up is an appealing suggestion . . .”

Sam snickers, shaking his head. “You're shameless." He might have meant it with teasing disapproval, but it sounds more like praise.

"Yeah, you know that space where most people have shame?"

"Yeah?"

"I thought it was a waste of space, so that's where I keep an extra sex drive. It makes life so much more fun."

"I'll bet." Sam groans, adjusting himself as inconspicuously as possible. "How about if you sit quietly and keep your hands from doing _anything_ . . . distracting until we are parked at the bunker, I will tie you up when we get there?”

You consider. The idea has great appeal, but right now, you’re more in the mood to get your hands _on_ Sam, _not_ have them tied. “If I promise to sit quietly and keep my hands from doing anything distracting until we are parked at the bunker, you must swear on your blood honor to provide me with a future favor to be named at a time of my choosing.” You hold out your hand and Sam looks at it a minute, smiling nervously.

“I have a feeling whatever you request is going to get me into trouble somehow.”

“Your move, Winchester. Trouble now, or trouble later.”

“Yeah, well I do have some idea of what sort of trouble I could expect now.”

“You _think_ you do anyway.”

Sam shakes your hand. “Fine. Trouble later it is.”

You both get into opposite sides of the front seat. You both buckle in, and Sam starts the car. You stare straight ahead at first, trying to focus on behaving yourself, but that gets boring _really_ fast, so you start staring at Sam, imagining the sorts of things you want to be doing to him in the car . . . in the front seat, the back seat, the hood . . . so many options. Sam notices you staring with a smirk that suggests you have x-ray vision and starts shifting uncomfortably, frowning.

"Can you _not_ do that?"

You bat your eyes innocently. "Do what?"

"You're looking at me in a way that's very distracting."

"Am I? How _exactly_ am I looking at you?"

Sam rolls his eyes like he knows exactly what game your playing, and he can't believe he can't think of a way to not walk into your obvious trap. Then Sam cocks he head and starts smirking in a way that makes you think he's about to turn the tables on you again. "You're looking at me like you're thinking about what I might do to you if we parked somewhere on the way home."

You were right. "Why Sam, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think you do. I think you're imagining how much you want my face up that cute little skirt of yours so you can tangle your fingers in my hair and seeing if my mouth can melt that pot of gold you promised."

"Liquid gold." You snicker. Just when you thought that Velveeta commercial couldn't get more sexual.

"And I thought you promised to be quiet."

You turn up your palms in the picture of helpless compliance. "I was just sitting here quietly like I promised. _You're_ the one asking _me_ questions. It would be rude not to answer you."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Seems to me like you're misbehaving. You may need a spanking later."

You drop your voice a few octaves for your next sally. "Why wait? You could bend me over your lap right here."

Sam chuckles, shaking his head. "Somehow, I don't think you'll learn if I just take you up on all your suggestions."

It takes a whole five minutes more into the drive before you realize that Sam said nothing about your mouth or legs behaving, and you start wondering how best to take advantage of this loop hole. You start by taking off your left boot, rubbing your foot and pretending it's sore. Sam glances at you tight-lipped, clearly expecting you to start making distracting moans of relief, but you stay quiet, just as you promised. Then you cross your left leg over your right as tightly as possible, making your own friction. Sam notices the approving sounds you make, but says nothing. You angle your hips so you can take your left foot and run it slowly along the length (and there's oh so much delightful length) of his muscular denim-clad thigh. You stay quiet, but you smile in pleasure, lips tight, and close your eyes for a long moment.

Sam jerks the wheel like you electrocuted him, swearing and shoots you a glare. You might not be making a sound, but he can imagine it like you're moaning directly into his ear with the faces you're making. You open your eyes catching Sam glaring at you in the mirror and make a clueless face that clearly says, "What?"

Sam shakes his head and the Impala picks up speed. You angle to shift your leg higher on his thigh, resting it on his hip, rubbing back and forth from his inner thigh to the edge of his ass, and Sam moans a little in exasperation. "Come on _________ . . . you promised."

"I'm not saying anything distracting or doing anything distracting with my _hands_. Just like I promised."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Can you please also refrain from doing that with your foot? I'd really like to _not_ crash. Not only do I have better ideas of how best to pass the time this evening than getting stitched up, I can't repeat any of them at a later date if Dean murders me for hurting his baby."

"Oh I don't know . . . I think Dean will have a new baby by the end of tonight, but you do make excellent points."

"Thank you."

"You're so smart, Sam." You bat your eyes again like you're swooning. He knows you're teasing him, but he chuckles, loving it. "I will stop distracting you with my _foot_."

You're about three quarters of the way to the bunker when you start trying to figure out how to get your mouth somewhere distracting without using your hands.

Sam sees an idea spark in your eyes through the rearview mirror and becomes concerned, but you then make an exaggerated yawn and curl up on the seat beside Sam, facing the seatback, not even touching him. Sam smiles down at you, thinking you look adorable and strokes your hair fondly. Then, little by little, you start inching closer to him when he's not watching you, until your head is resting against his thigh. Sam looks down at you while you look up him, making your best, wide-eyed innocent smile and Sam shakes his head groaning and refocuses on the road.

You chuckle and nuzzle your face against his side, nosing Sam's shirt up so you can deliver open mouthed kisses to his side and stomach. You're in the process of deciding between going after a nipple or the button on his jeans next when Sam stops the car abruptly, cradling your head with his hand so you didn't hit it against the steering wheel.

You take advantage of the stopped car and swiftly move your mouth up to give his right nipple a long, swirling lick before you smile up at him like a cat that's eating the fish after you told him to leave the canary alone. "Look Sam, no hands."

Sam bangs his head lightly on the steering wheel, whining your name. "I can't help but feel that you are cheating."

"There's just no pleasing you Sam . . . I'm following your requests."

"Oh, you're being very pleasing. That's the problem. You're finding loopholes."

"For a pre-law student, you sure left a lot of them. At this point, they're really more belt loop holes, and I'm just undoing them one by one until I've got your pants down around your ankles."

Sam groaned again. "What's it going to take for you to stop distracting me, so we can get back to the bunker on one piece? Another future favor?"

"How much further?"

"Five minutes."

You narrow your eyes discerningly. "I want whipped cream."

"Is that all?"

"The real stuff, to be served on your neck and the V line of your hips."

Sam looks a little stunned for a minute like you just shorted out his brain before he manages to reply, "Deal." He gives you a look like he won the lottery and you're not sure if it's your promise or his concession making him smile like that, but who cares? You smirk and roll back up to sit in your seat, looking as well-behaved as a possible. Sam grins, and puts his foot on the gas again, and you pass the last five minutes in silence.

When you reach the bunker, Sam pulls into the garage, and you both unbuckle your seatbelts. You're about to start getting out of the car when Sam grabs you by the front of your chocolate skirt and drags you across the Impala's bench seat. You go from sitting beside him at a respectful distance to being slid under him, his legs and arms braced on either side of you on the seat so fast your head is swimming with whiskey and lust. Sam runs his nose from your sternum to your ear in one long swipe "You are a _terrible_ ," then he repeats the motion with the tip of his tongue, breathing hard, " _delicious_ ;" he licks your ears, nipping your earlobe, " _tease_." Sam kisses you again, long and hard, his hips driving between your legs, and you can not only feel how hard he is after all your teasing, you can feel that your skirt has ridden up completely so he's pressed right up against your panties. You roll your hips, thrusting eagerly up into him and you both groan, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling Sam closer and wishing your legs could get around him. Then Sam's right hand starts running up the length of your leg, and he notices your skirt too and stops. He takes a deep breath and pulls your skirt back down, blushing a little.

"Sam . . . what-?" You can't even form a question for how frustrated you are that he stopped.

"Nope. We're not doing this."

"What?!" What the hell was Sam talking about?! Half a minute ago you were all but having car sex. He clearly wanted this. What was the problem?!

"Nope. Come on. Let's get out." Sam starts helping you out of his side of the car, and you're too flabbergasted to protest, but your sexual frustration is starting to edge towards pissed. You're trying to remember that Sam is your friend and you respect him and you don't want him to do anything he's not comfortable with, but . . . what the hell?!

Sam looks at your face and at this point you're thinking so loudly you're sure he's not guessing what you're thinking; he's reading the thought bubbles that are surely forming over your head. "Look, I've waited this long; I am not doing this with you for the first time in a car, not even the Impala. Come on." He holds his hand out to help you out of the car.

All your irritation clears as his words start to sink in. "Oh." Sam had you so focused on his dirty streak, you forgot that Sam was, at heart, a romantic. You take his hand and let him help you out.

"I didn't say you were off the hook." He smirks. You're still looking stunned so he starts backtracking verbally. "I mean unless you _want_ to be off the hook."

You shake your head to clear it and convey your thoughts on being let off the hook. "Sam, the only thing I want to be 'off the hook' is you and me. And by 'off the hook,' I mean mind-blowing and possibly furniture-breaking."

Sam grins and then hoists you back over his shoulder.

You squeal at the sudden change in location. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you don't get up to any more mischief at the moment. You (smack) were (smack) very (smack) very (smack) naughty (smack) on (smack) the (smack) way (smack) here (smack)." Sam rubs your ass, easing the sting of your spanking, and his enormous hand feels amazing on your skin.

"Hey, not my fault you don't design a very good agreement. Remind me to never let you make demon deals."

Sam smacks your ass again and carries you into the kitchen, setting you down on the counter. As soon as he does, you pull him in, wrapping your arms and legs around him, and kissing him. You lean back, pulling him over you on the counter, licking into his mouth and undulating your crotch against his, anchoring him with your legs. Sam's hands are everywhere, running through your hair, down your back, up your thighs to drag you closer to him. He's practically rutting you into the cool tile when he pulls back again.

You look up, lips kiss swollen. "What? It's not the car!"

"Not where we eat. Not tonight." He was out of breath and disheveled and clearly starting to lose his self control.

That sounded promising, so you relented, sitting up patiently and watched Sam head towards the refrigerator. "What are we doing here?"

"Getting some water in both of us."

"Hydration is very important before athletic events." You nod solemnly, winking when he catches the innuendo and chuckles.

Sam grabs a couple bottles of water from the fridge and makes you finish one of them and eyes you critically as you bobble a little on the counter, still happily drunk.

"What?" You ask, handing him back the empty bottle.

“I think you might be too drunk for what I have in mind.”

You roll your eyes. “Nonsense. You can test me. If I pass, you have to treat me as if I’m sober.”

Sam laughs and finishes his water. “Deal.”

He grabs two more bottles of water and starts to head towards the door. "Come on. Follow me."

You smirk, another idea forming and head to the fridge. You grab the can of whipped cream and before Sam can say anything and shove it half way down the front of his pants. "Since your hands are full," you explain reasonably. "I wouldn't want you to forget your promise."

Sam's eyes get very wide as he swallows hard. "Right. Your room or mine?"

"Dealer's choice."

Sam nods and heads to his room. Halfway there, you notice that he's walking like he know you're staring at his ass again, and you're sure that's what he's up to once Sam gets to his room and takes about a minute to bend over and put down the water sticking his ass out at you. Not being one to turn down an invitation, you give him the spanking he's clearly begging for, and Sam makes a satisfied sound when he turns around. "You are pretty good at that."

"That's the tip of the iceberg, Sam."

"Really? How big is this iceberg?" He comes up to you, tucking your hair behind your ear and running his thumb over your jaw, like he did at the bar and you can just feel yourself melt.

"It'd take down the Titanic."

"Guess I'm not the only one who's cocky tonight."

"I'd like to get a whole lot cockier, Sam but you keep finding reasons to stop." You push him back to sit on his bed and then step back a couple paces. "Well, we're not in the car or the kitchen, I believe you're last concern was about my level of drunkenness, so what do you want me to do? Do you want me to prove my coordination?" You reach out your arms and touch them one at a time to your chest and back out again, right arm to right nipple and back out; left arm to left nipple and back out, cupping each breast in turn for added effect and repeat a few times while Sam watches, transfixed. "Satisfied?"

Sam locks his eyes on you, quirking a smile. "Not yet, but you're off to a great start. How about you recite the alphabet?"

"Will that satisfy you?" You're playing now and so is he.

"I guess we'll find out." His face is full of wicked optimism, and it's contagious.

"If I get from A to Z successfully, do you promise to stop worrying about my sobriety level?"

"Yes."

"Do you promise to not interfere with me reciting the alphabet for any reason, in any way?"

Sam rolls his eyes "Yes. By the way, it's just ridiculous that you are better at making deals than me right now."

"I would have thought my level of scheming and vocabulary would be convincing enough."

"I'm pretty sure you'd have to be near black-out drunk to interfere with your scheming or giant vocabulary."

"You are correct, sir. At this point the only thing that's impaired is my sense of inhibition. Now lay back on that bed and take off your shirt." Sam grins and complies, scooting back on his bed to his pillows.

"And why am I taking off my shirt for this test?" He raises an eyebrow.

"I need a writing surface, and you need to pay a debt."

You look around for the can of whipped cream, and notice, gratefully, that it's still in his pants and take this opportunity to crawl up the bed and pull it slowly out, trying not to lose focus as you see his bare chest.

Sam grins. "See something you like?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely." You use the whipped cream to draw a small 'A' on Sam's right peck, starting at his nipple. Sam groans as you slowly lick it up, swirling your tongue over his hard, tan nub. "A," you say aloud before you start drawing a 'B' over his other peck. Sam is a mess at this point making breathy moans and squirming. You sit back, enjoying your handiwork. "Sam are you going to be able to sit still while I finish my sobriety test, or do you need me to tie you to the bed?"

Sam's eyes go nearly black with want. "Another time. I think I can manage through the next 24 letters."

You nod, smirking and get back to it. By the time you get to 'N,' which runs with the top two points running up both sides of his neck, you are a straddling his lap, "because it's more comfortable than leaning over you," you explained when he questioned you. Sam, is thrusting his chest off the bed into your mouth. When you make it to 'V,' which runs from his right nipple, dips into his belly button, and goes back up to his other nipple, Sam looks like he's about to cream his pants. 'X' crosses from nipple to hip bone across both sides of his chest and 'Z' goes from nipple to nipple, dips in his belly button and then drags across his hip bones and waist. You position yourself between his legs for the last line of whipped cream and look up at him, your mouth hovering just over his jeans as you finish. "So, do I pass?"

Sam is staring at you like you might be the crazy one now, stopping as he pants, "Yes, you pass." His voice is rough as gravel, and hungry. It goes straight through you, making you shake with need.

"Excellent, now, where to start, so many delectable options."

"I believe there was talk of sucking out my impressive brain."

"Quick wit and an impeccable memory, so sexy." You drag down his zipper, reading the fly and muttering 'lucky you,' under your breath, snickering.

Sam snickers too. "I really never would have guessed you had this side to you."

"Yeah, drunk me is a wee bit slutty, actually it would be most accurate to say drunk me is a selective nympho."

"Lucky me indeed."

"Indeed." You parrot, pulling his pants and green boxer-briefs down his legs, until you reach his boots. You forgot about them. You shake your head, deciding not bother at the moment and head back to your prize, making sure nothing important is trapped between Sam's legs before straddling them. You work your fingers between his thighs and under his sac, rolling his balls gently. "Lucky charms to be sure." You lick a stripe between them before tracing around them, outlining the shape, enjoying the musky sandalwoody scent and taste of him. Your nose keeps brushing at his wiry hair and his stiff cock, bobbing above you. Sam suddenly remembers that he's not actually tied to the bed, and his hand comes down to stroke your shoulder. "______, please." He begs and the strained tone goes straight to your panties. "You said you wanted to get your hands on my shillelagh."

You smirk up at him, lips flush with his thigh, speaking just above his skin so every word makes your lips brush against him. "I did say that, didn't I?"

Sam's leaning forward, propped up on his elbows off the bed, looking at you with full puppy eyes and nods. "Please."

You wink at him and run your nose along the underside of his rock hard cock, before licking a stripe over his slit followed by an open-mouthed french kiss over the head.

Sam makes keening sound. "No more teasing _________ , please."

You chuckle and then close your mouth over the tip, using plenty of tongue, enjoying yourself. You'll be very surprised if he lasts long after this much teasing on the heels of drinking. Then you start hollowing your cheeks to suck on him in earnest. Sam moans so loudly you're sure that if Dean is home and not in the same compromising position, he can hear everything. You swirl your tongue around the head and take one hand to wrap around the base of his cock, pumping while your other hand rolls his balls. You start to bob your head, and you can feel his sac tightening in your hand.

"Wait . . . I'm gonna . . ." Sam is about to pull you off him, but you bat his hands away and redouble your efforts, drinking him down eagerly as he shoots hot and hard down your throat, shouting you name. You milk Sam through his orgasm and then clean him meticulously with kitten licks while he slowly comes back to earth. When you're done, you ease off his boots and then finish removing his pants and 'small clothes,' tossing them over your shoulder when they're free. Then you crawl back up a thoroughly naked Sam. You're about half way when he grabs you under your arms and pulls you up the rest of the way to kiss you. The he gives your ass another spanking.

"Ooh! What was that for?"

"I thought I told you to wait."

"You taste delicious. I regret nothing. "

Sam chuckles. "Thank you, but I hadn't intended for that to happen quite so soon."

You look at him, confused. "I thought you wanted me to handle your shillelagh."

Sam chuckles. "I did; I do . . ." He blushes, and it's adorable. "I just mean that now I'm not sure certain parts of me are going to be up for another round anytime soon after all that drinking, so I was intending to wait a bit."

You shrug unapologetically. "I was done waiting, Sam. Besides, spanking is the tip of the iceberg, remember?" You start scooting back down his body again.

"Hey, I think it's your turn."

You wave him off. "When you love your job, you don’t mind a little overtime. You have another round in you right now; I promise." You take Sam back in your mouth, and Sam falls back against the pillow. You start lightly, knowing he's super sensitive now, using more saliva and lip and soft tongue, just keeping him in the warm, wet cavity of your mouth and lightly stroking along the flesh while Sam makes mewling sounds. A bare five minutes or so later, you can feel him starting to get hard again in your mouth under you expert tongue. You pull off gently and crawl back up his chest. "Tip of the iceberg." You repeat smugly.

Sam pulls you tight against him. "You have too many clothes on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first person who knows the other sci/fi show I am referencing throughout this story (other than Star Wars or Game of Thrones-Thank you addictedtomtdew8 for helping me refine my challenge), may have a reader insert request on me, and I will make it as awesome as I can.
> 
> Also, I realized that my revised version somehow was not the one I posted and the draft that did post left Sam with two belly buttons, which was hilarious, but not actually my intention, so I've posted the revised version with a few other additions. Sorry about that. I blame Sam. He's very distracting.


	5. Pot of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam pays you back for driving him crazy and drunk and willing, you enjoy every second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I tried writing this from the perspective of someone drunk, so it is purposely detailed in a few places as focus weaves in and out, but overall it's more focused on sensations, than details.

♪ _Sweater Weather_ by The Neighborhood& _Dark Star_ by Jaymes Young♪

Sam's lips are so soft as they move against your mouth, there's plenty of heat behind them though, and his tongue slides against yours, gentle, but hungry. “My turn." He rumbles against your lips. "You owe my your pot of gold.” Sam holds you tight, still kissing you thoroughly as he rolls you both over until he has you pinned under him for the first time since the car, kissing you long and hard into the mattress, and you're dizzy again. Maybe it's the sudden shift in position, maybe the whiskey has another wave rushing through you, maybe you're own lust is making you drunk, or maybe it's just _Sam_. The way your senses are getting muddled and sliding across each other the same way your hands and his are moving across each other's skin tells you that it's probably a combination of all three. Whatever the ingredients, the cocktail of factors is potent and makes it easy to get caught up in tiny details like the way Sam feels like flannel -comfortable and warm- or is that his sheets? And he tastes like sandalwood and sweat or is that his smell?

Sam runs a finger down your body from your neck to your belly button to your thighs. Then he slides his hand under your skirt, crooking his index finger under the edge of your panties to dip shallowly between your folds, just enough to feel that you're soaked. “Liquid gold already?”

Your gasping, chasing his finger with your hips. “Pretty sure it’s been molten for awhile now.”

"Is that so? I wonder how that happened." His smile is so cocky, and it's easy in that moment to remember who his brother is.

"Well, you were pretty hot going down my throat a little bit ago." You counter, matching his smirk.

You both snicker. Then, Sam gives you that lottery-winner-grin again and brings his finger back to his mouth to suck it clean. "Mmm," he moans. Then Sam's lips start moving over your jaw, towards your ear. His tongue sweeps out warm and wet, tracing the shell of your ear, then as he starts kissing just under your right ear, he stops, "I have an idea."

You're not sure what he's looking for, but the whiskey's swamped your brain a little too hard at the moment and your head feels far too heavy to lift off Sam's soft pillow. Then you hear the shaking of the spray can and the thick rushing sound of the whipped cream milliseconds before your feel the cool, soft spray trace a line down your nose. Then you feel Sam's tongue again, lapping it off your nose and then putting a line of whipped cream on your lips. You start to lick it off and find your tongue tasting his tongue as Sam starts acting on the same idea.

 "Hey," he jokingly protests, pulling back a little. "You got your turn. That was for me."

You stick out your tongue, swipe a little more whipped cream from your lips before pulling it back into your mouth. "Come get some."

Sam grins, kissing you again, licking at your mouth and tongue until all you can taste is each other. Then he pulls back, shaking the can again. "You looked like you were having so much fun earlier and frankly, I was starting to get hungry."  He sprays a line down the right side of your neck next, followed swiftly by his tongue. Sam nips your ear lobe as he finishes the line. "Mmmm. Delicious." The left side of your neck is next, then the line from your neck to your cleavage, making you moan.

Sam stops just short of your top. "We still need to do something about all these clothes of yours." He gives your chest a broad lick just above the line of your shirt. Then he puts the can aside so he can use both hands to pull your shirt over your head. It gets caught in your hair, and Sam stops, both of you giggling, so you can help take a clip out of your hair, letting it loose. Then he eases the rest of your shirt off, kissing your belly playfully as his hands toss your shirt away. You expect your bra to go next, but Sam slides down to remove your boots and stockings next. Then he climbs up, unhooking your bra with one hand while he kisses you and then pulling it off and away with both hands as soon as it's free.

Sam rubs his face against your bare breasts for a minute while you enjoy the scratch of his stubble against your soft skin and bare nipples. You hope his tongue isn't far behind, but Sam's not done playing. He takes the can of whipped cream back in hand and pulls himself up, leaning over you. "You are so beautiful." He looks into your eyes, and he seems to be asking a question. You nod and Sam traces a line of whipped cream along the lower curve of you right breast chasing it with his tongue, then does the same to your left breast.

"Sam . . ." You whine. "Please."

Sam grins, considering giving you a little of what you want. "You had your fun. It's my turn now." He takes his time, tracing curls with the whipped cream all over your breasts and licking it all off, finally, making soft little whipped cream buds on your nipples and then ever so slowly sucking it off. The second Sam finally takes one in his mouth, your hands are in his hair, his long, luxurious hair, pulling him harder against your breast, daring him to pull away anytime soon. Sam isn't rushing off though. He sucks eagerly at your nipples, first one than the other, pausing only to give broad swirling licks to the whole of your breast to clean off any errant whipped cream.

Your hips are writhing under him. He hasn't touched you where you want him most, not since that first taste and you're dying for him to go back for seconds . . . and thirds.

"Ugnnh . . . Sam," You moan, in-between swipes of his marvelous tongue. "Not that I'm not loving what you're doing right now, but I thought you wanted to finger my pot of gold."

Sam's drunk, on alcohol, on lust, on post-orgasm bliss, on _you_. He looks at you hazily. "Very true." He slid a hand down to your thigh, sliding your skirt up, revealing your gold satin panties. He glides his thumb over the soft, slippery fabric, noting the way it was damp and slick between your thighs. "You're utterly soaked through."

"Yes, I am. Someone's been teasing me for far too long."

 Sam grinned, "Turn about's fair play."

"I'd rather play dirty than fair, but if 'turn about' means you'll start kissing my bottom half instead of my top, I'd say that's a start in the right direction."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Sam reaches around to grab your ass, pulling it level with his face and you whimper, mostly in lust. Sam looks concerned though. “Your ass isn’t too sore from all that pinching is it?” He massages your butt soothingly in his hands.

“A little, your brother really got me.” You tease.

Sam nuzzles against your belly. “Well that wasn’t very gentlemanly of him. Perhaps I should make it better.”

“Perhaps you should.”

Sam resumed panty petting, his right thumb over your slick panties while his left hand held your skirt out of the way, and you mewl under his hands. Then without warning, Sam buries his face between your legs, sniffing and licking at you through your panties. "Delicious."

"Sam . . . Please . . ."

"Now, you're really all wet." Sam moaned, sliding his fingers under the band of gold satin on your hip. "You can't possibly be comfortable in these."

"No. No Sam I can't. Please help me get them off."

Sam slides them off with one long motion of his arm and then looks up at you, grinning. "Is that better?"

 "Getting there."

"How about this?" Sam takes one slow lick with the flat of his tongue up the length of your dripping slit. Then he repeats the motion with the tip of his tongue, dipping it as far down into your slick folds as he can, swirling it around your clit at the end. As he continues circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, Sam dips a finger inside you, slowly, savoring.

"Damn, you are wet." Sam moans.

"Sam . . . more."

"Easy baby girl; I got you." Sam licks his tongue over your clit starting just below and finishing just above in tiny, fast licks that have you feel like your entire body is lit up like a Christmas tree. Gold sparks fly under your skin and you are bucking and screaming for him as Sam keeps thrusting that one finger inside you, slow and steady twisting inside your walls with just the slightest curve. Sam feels your inner wall clench around his finger and then relax as you come down off your high.

"Sam . . ." You breathe his name like a grateful prayer, and he grins against your pussy, up to his nose in wet curls and mighty pleased with himself. As soon as you relax around his finger, he adds a second, easing it in and curling both of them inside you, so you see stars. You cry out again, bucking against his hand and trying to grind down further onto his fingers.

You can feel another orgasm building and unconsciousness right on its heels. It all feels way too damn good and lying in Sam's bed, surrounded by his scent and his body has you relaxed and aroused and once that next orgasm rips through you, you're gonna be down for the count. Before that happens, you need to _know_. You need to feel him inside you completely before you fall asleep, sober up, and lose your nerve. "Sam, baby, you feel so good. Please, Sam, I need you inside me."

"I am inside you." Sam teases, rubbing his fingers against your inner walls.

"Come on Sam, no more teasing. That gorgeous cock of yours is gonna feel so good inside me. Please, just slide your fingers out and slide it in me. I bet I look so good split open on your cock."

Sam groans against you and then takes his fingers out of you. He nuzzles his face against your thigh before looks up at you with full puppy eyes. "Baby girl, that sounds _so_ good; you have no idea, but I was thinking we could postpone that until we're sober."

You push yourself up on your elbows, confused. "What? Why? If you're still afraid of having whiskey dick, I think you can relax baby, because I can feel you on my leg, and I think we are good to go."

Sam chuckles. "Yes, your mouth has many amazing restorative powers, but that's not why I want to wait."

Your heart lowers into your stomach a little. "What is it? I'm starting to feel a little rejected here, Sam."

"Sorry baby, there's no need to feel rejected. It's just that I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I don’t want to cross that line while we’re drunk for a lot of reasons. So let’s enjoy the lines we've already crossed, hydrate, and take a power nap. When we wake up for round two, we’ll be sober, and we can just enjoy.”

As angry as your pussy was at this latest development, your heart couldn't help but do a little flop. Sweet Sam . . .

Sam was still looking at you with his puppy eyes, though, waiting for a response. "Hey, that ok with you?"

You shake your head to clear it. "Sorry Sam. I guess you just caught me off guard. Of course that's ok. We've been friends for a while. I can see why you'd rather wait until we're sober. I mean, I'm disappointed, but I'll get over it."

"I hope you won't judge me too harshly for saying I'm glad you're disappointed."

You chuckle. "I'll try not to, but you are a damn, horrible tease, Sam Winchester."

Sam's puppy eyes were smiling now. "What can I do to make it up to you?" Sam gives your clit a lingering, sweet kiss, sucking and licking at your clit while his lips massage the tender flesh all around it.

Your eyes flutter close and you fall back onto his pillows. "You're off to a great start there Sam."

"Mmmmm. Good." He rumbles. Sam took another long lick up your slit and then laps slowly around your hole, letting his tongue massage the opening. You settle in, your hands back at his magnificent long hair. Then Sam drives his tongue into you as far as it can go and while his tongue moves in and out of you fast and hard, his calloused thumb strokes your clit firm and slow while his hand holds your hip firmly. You're writhing under Sam's face and then he slides a finger under his tongue, inside your pussy, and your vision goes white when he curls his finger inside you.

Sam starts rubbing his erection against your thigh, and you reach a hand down to pump him in your hand. Just the feel of his cock in your hand, coupled with what his mouth is doing pushes you over the edge again. Impossibly, you feel another orgasm right on the heels of the last one, and you need him to come with you. If he's not gonna come in your pussy, you at least want him in your mouth. "Sam, please, let me suck on your cock. Let me suck on it while you eat me out. Please baby." You're so blissed out, and your brain is whiskey wading so deep at this point that you're barely conscious that you're talking.

Sam groans, lifting his face to look at you, rubbing your thigh and belly affectionately. "Baby, you are so hot, begging like that right now. Your wish is my command."

He's moving more clumsily now, fatigue and whiskey setting in, but he turns around and settles his knees on either side of your head without squishing you, and you take a long, lick over his cock's slit, gathering the precome in your mouth. Sam groans again, and you take the head in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, before sucking on the tip. Then you tongue the vein running just under the ridge and pull up and off, before going back up, swallowing as much as you can take. Sam thrusts shallowly into your mouth before diving back between your legs, two fingers going right back inside you while he licks your clit in earnest.

Your whiskey brain decides that there is a direct correlation between you sucking on Sam's dick and you reaching your third orgasm, which is shaping up to be the most intense of the night. There is a correlation, but it's not as direct as your brain thinks it is. You have one hand pumping at the base of his cock, while you suck on him, wet and sloppy, and Sam moans hard against your clit. Then Sam does something clever with his fingers inside you and your entire focus dissolves into chasing after your respective orgasms like it's your mission in life. You're choking on his dick as you try to fit more of it into your mouth, because you swear if you could somehow manage to swallow it all, you'd get that release you need like it's your next breath of air. You're losing control, your free hand clawing at Sam's thigh, back, and ass trying to pull him closer, deeper, more.

Sam seems to be thinking along the same lines because his tongue is working overtime licking at your clit: faster, harder, swirling. His fingers are pumping inside you, faster and faster, brushing your sweet spot just enough, but he seems to understand that right now, you need speed, and he's more than happy to give it. His hips start thrusting a little, just enough to let you know that he's losing control. His hands pull your pussy closer to his face, his fingers digging into your hips, your ass, every motion echoing your desire for more.

Then he's coming: salty and earthy and almost sweet down your throat and the thought of it, of Sam coming in your mouth again while he eats you out couples with the way his tongue and fingers feel working you over, and it shoves you over the edge so hard you feel like you fell through a glass window, sharp and loud, shattering you. You black out for a minute or so, and when you come back to yourself, you're gently sucking on his softening cock while Sam licks you softly into your aftershocks. Sam's body starts to buckle, his head laying heavily on your thigh as he cleans you gently with his tongue while you finish cleaning his cock off with your mouth. When you release him from your mouth, Sam, collapses gently off to your side, taking his boxer briefs off the floor to wipe himself off a bit, and you find a nearby piece of clothing -you're not sure what it is or who it belongs to- and do the same before collapsing back onto the bed.

You both lie there for a little while, panting, holding each other tight, chest to chest. When his breathing slows, Sam brings you one of the bottles of water and has you drink, and he does the same. You both down a couple of the larger bottles in between panting breaks to make sated googly eyes at each other and kissing softly. Sam tosses the empty bottles into a corner when you're done and pulls you against him, spooning you. "Come here baby, let's get a little sleep. We'll take a catnap, let the water do its thing, and then see about crossing some more lines."

You snuggle your ass into him, nuzzling into his pillow and let your aftershocks drive you into dreamland. "That sounds perfect, Sam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam drove me so crazy working on this chapter that I nearly put ketchup into my lemonade instead of honey, which is not a yummy accident BTW. The next chapter is coming, but full of angsty goodness-you are warned.


	6. Malarkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after: you have a nightmare that sparks a series of unfortunate miscommunications that leads to drama worthy of the CW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who asked for drama double dipped in angst? Order up.

♪ _Warning Sign_ by Coldplay; _Hurricane_ by MS MR; _What Do You Want from me_ by Adam Lambert ♪

You wake first, all the dark blurs starting to solidify. Sam wakes and looks at you, smiling sleepily, then you come into focus, and he looks around, taking in the nudity, the clothes, himself, you, and he seems to be processing rapidly. “Well, I guess we had fun last night.”

You’re confused. Was it just fun? It seemed at certain points like it was more than fun for Sam. Right? Maybe you weren't remembering everything clearly. It certainly was more than just fun for you. “Yeah. Lots of fun. So what now?”

Sam tapped your nose playfully, got up and started tossing his clothes in a laundry basket. Then he grabbed a towel from the back of a chair. “Now, I’m going to grab a shower before we get some breakfast and check the news for a case, unless you want the shower first.”

You’re still unsure. He seems so casual, like nothing’s changed. And he clearly has forgotten all about his promise of morning sex. He's certainly no offering to wash your back. None of this makes you particularly happy. “Um, no; you go. I’ll just find all my clothes.”

Sam grins. “Sounds like a plan.”

“What do you want me to tell the others if they ask about last night?”

“What do you mean?” Sam seems genuinely clueless, and it’s nearly worse than if he was being an ass about it.

You try to keep your voice neutral. “I mean, you carried me out of the bar last night after making out in front of everyone. They’re going to ask what happened.”

Sam waived you off. “Don’t worry about it. They’ll be cool. We all have to cut loose sometime. You and I deserved a good time. They don’t need to make a big deal about it. It’s not like we’re gonna let it ruin our friendship or anything, right?”

You force a casual laugh you can’t feel on your face. “Yeah, of course not. We don’t own them an explanation just because we’re friends that have fun on occasion.”

“Exactly.” Sam gives you a quick kiss. “Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

“Yeah. See you at breakfast.” You wave bye as he heads to the shower. Sam wasn’t cruel, but somehow you thought last night would mean something more to him than fun.

* * *

Then you woke up.

You wake first, like in the dream, wrapped in Sam’s arms, your head cradled under his chin. You feel strange. Your body feels so relaxed, sated, and calm, while your heart feels detached. Nothing seems quite real. It was one of those dreams that’s so real, the perfect reflection of your worst fears, projected onto a reality that seems so plausible it’s difficult to separate what’s real from what’s illusion. Now, you're here, lying in Sam’s arms, trying not to freak out.

Had you made a horrible miscalculation? Was this going to ruin your friendship with Sam? Was last night just fun for him? No, it was just a dream. You were trying to convince yourself how ridiculous you were being. Things had seemed more significant to Sam at certain points, right? Or was that just a whiskey-filtered memory? Did you think you remembered things that hadn't really happened? Did you remember everything? How should you act when Sam wakes up? You were about to start playing through scenarios in your head, when Sam started to stir. Crap. Out of time. You’d just have to take your cue from him.

Sam woke slowly, pulling you closer at first, nuzzling into your hair before he pieced together his surroundings. Then he pulled back, looking you in the face. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Your tone is cautious.

“What time is it?”

You glance around for his clock. “I’m not sure. I just woke up.”

Sam checked the ancient clock near his bed and then back at you. “Well, this is embarrassing.”

Your stomach turns to ice. “It is?”

Sam chuckles, chagrined. “Yeah, I must be slipping.”

Well, that does it. He regrets last night. Why won’t the bed just swallow you whole? He’s embarrassed that he let his drunken state or penis needs get the best of him, and now he’s trying to find a way to gracefully salvage things. If you are going to save your friendship, you need to help Sam talk his way out, get away as fast as possible and just cry it out of your system with Kevin in the privacy of your room.

You roll out of bed, away from Sam, and start throwing on enough of your clothes to go out into the bunker. You have to hurry, or he'll know something's wrong and everything will get weird and awkward and awful. “It’s no big deal, Sam. It happens to the best of us. We were pretty drunk.” Sam looks confused. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to help him get out of this. That wasn’t surprising though. Most guys expected that the morning after conversation would be uncomfortable and one-sided, but weighed their way. You hope that if you take the lead, maybe it won't hurt so much, so you plow ahead. “It is pretty late in the day though. We should probably make sure Kevin got back ok.”

“Um yeah. Yeah, we probably should.” Sam seemed like he wasn’t quite awake.

“I’ll just check on Kevin and grab a quick shower, and then I’ll see you at breakfast, or whatever meal we’re on now. Want me to make you something?” Your voice is cheerful, but inside, you can feel the pain rising up to choke you, and you shove it away for now.

Sam, is propped up on one arm now, looking at you, still confused. “Um, yeah. Whatever you’re making sounds great. I’ll get a shower first too.”

You nod, numb, gathering the rest of your clothes in hand as you reach the door. “OK, see you soon, Sam. Don’t look so worried. I’m fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing’s changed.”

“Um, OK. Great.” Sam doesn’t sound convinced. You mentally vow to do a better job of convincing him, but later. Right now, you just need to get away so you can break down a little.

You head down to your room as covertly as possible, grateful that your room isn’t too close to Sam and Dean’s so you can be upset privately. Kevin’s room is next door to yours, and you decide that you need to talk to him more than you need to get cleaned up. Fortunately, Kevin is in his room. You toss the rest of your outfit from last night on your bed and then head into his room with a cursory knock. He looks up as you come in. His hair is still damp, so clearly he's taken a shower already. He's hanging his green suit up at the moment.

"Hey there. Looks like I'm not the only one who had a fun night."

You try not to cringe at the word 'fun.' "Looks like you're still alive. You get back awhile ago?"

"About an hour. I got breakfast with Talia. We're gonna get dinner later this week, maybe catch a movie. You and Sam can double with us."

You look away. "I don't know . . ."

Kevin doesn't notice at first that' something's wrong. He's too distracted by something he sees on your shirt anyway. “You have something on your top . . .”

You looked down at your shirt, grateful for the distraction. There was a decent-sized whitish smudge over your left breast.

Kevin looked back at you, his face caught between disgust and a smirk. “Is that cum?”

You're a little horrified, but only one way to know for sure. You taste it with a finger. It's sugary and vanilla-y. “Nope. It’s whipped cream.”

Kevin shakes his head caught between revulsion and amusement. “When you test for it like that, I’m not sure that it’s better.”

"No. I suppose not."

"So I take it things last night went really well?"

"Not exactly."

Kevin finishes fussing with the suit and takes a real look at your face and sees the misery, the unshed tears. "Hey . . .What happened?"

You shake your head, and Kevin pulls you in for a hug. "Sit. Tell me all about it."

* * *

After you left, Sam fell back against his pillows, stunned. He must have heard you wrong. Or maybe he misunderstood. You were so casual, so distant. He tried to play it off like maybe you were just feeling hung over or feeling nervous about crossing lines, but the overwhelming feeling he’d gotten from you was that you seemed embarrassed and uncomfortable. Trying to stay optimistic, Sam wondered if maybe you were just self-conscious about showing him that bolder, sexier side of you that he’d never seen before. To be honest, Sam wasn’t used to showing that side of himself either. He was generally more reserved around women at least until the damn broke, but you two hadn’t really had that moment of clothes-flying-reservations-sailing-into-the-air-with-them moment. You’d both taken your time for the most part, making intentions clear. All that made this morning that much more confusing to him. You’d seemed like you were interested in him, right? Well, you’d at least seemed interested in getting naked, but hadn’t feelings been shared? Maybe not. He’d felt so connected to you that maybe he’d thought things were said that he’d just felt.

Sam picked up his room, trying to gather his thoughts, and finds your hair clip from the night before. He decides to bring it back to you as a lead in to telling you that he enjoyed your night and wants to see where things go. Then he can ask you to go out to dinner to talk about it some more. Sam heads towards your room, hearing the muffled sound of your voice. Your door is open, so he peeks inside and sees your clothes heaped on your bed, but you're not there. He hears Kevin's voice too next door. He nods his head. You did say you were going to see how Kevin was after his night. Sam debates whether to go and talk to you while you're talking to Kevin or wait in your room to talk to you alone. He decides to wait a few minutes, and if you're not done talking to Kevin about his night by then, he can go wait for you in the kitchen and talk to you over breakfast. Hey, he could make you breakfast since you clearly didn't get that far yet. If Kevin hasn't eaten yet, he could make breakfast for him too, but Sam's hoping Kevin ate at the girl's place so he can talk to you alone.

Sam is starting to consider what to make you for breakfast when he hears his name. He shouldn't listen. It's rude and invasive. You're probably just giving Kevin a blurry watercolor of your night since Kevin's been telling you about his night. But Sam's still feeling a little confused about your behavior in his room, so he listens, telling himself it's just to reassure himself that he's being ridiculous and then he'll go down to the kitchen since it doesn't sound like the conversation is winding down anytime soon. Then he hears the worst sound, a sound that means he wasn't imagining things; something is very wrong: you're crying. Maybe it's just laughing. Sometimes laughing sounds like crying, right? Sam listen's more closely. Nope, it's definitely crying. Sam's heart just sinks as he runs through everything he remembers from last night, but he doesn't understand why you're crying. Then Sam hears you talking again. Now, he has to listen. Screw right and wrong, if he made you cry, he has to know what he did any way he can. He makes out one short, damning phrase: "Kevin, I think I made a huge mistake, and I don't know what to do."

Sam swears he blacks out for a minute in shock. That was definitely _not_ what he was expecting. He puts the hair clip in his pocket and leaves quietly, heading for the kitchen.

* * *

Meanwhile in Kevin's room, you're trying to give Kevin as much information as you can so he can help you figure out how to fix this. He's a Prophet of the Lord. He should have insight. "Kevin, I think I made a huge mistake, and I don't know what to do. I went about this all wrong. I didn't think it through. I knew I wanted Sam, and I knew I had feelings for Sam, but I didn't think about what to do if anything actually happened. I wanted things to happen, but I didn't really believe they would. I mean, I thought best case, I get some drunken kissing or flirting. I never thought things would go so far. I mean I wanted them to, but now what?"

Kevin gives you an exasperated sigh. "You need to talk to _Sam_."

"Yeah, that's a plan. I can go down to breakfast, crying hysterically. That should go great. And Sam seemed so embarrassed this morning."

"Why would he be embarrassed?"

"Maybe he didn't plan for things to go so far either. Maybe he's embarrassed by his lack of restraint or something. Maybe he's worried our friendship and thereby our working relationship are about to implode." You're hyperventilating and talking so fast you're impressed that Kevin is keeping up. What is wrong with you?

Kevin makes pacifying gestures with his hands. "OK breathe. Just breathe."

You take a few deep breaths.

Kevin nods, pleased that you seem calmer. "What do you want?"

His simple question brings the hysteria clawing right back up your throat. "I don't know. I just feel so confused. I mean I just didn't realize how much he meant to me and now that I have, I just feel like this is not the way I should have gone about it. I just didn't realize there was so much between us. It just all feels so important. "

Kevin tried not to tell you to calm down and get it together because you were acting crazy, but it took effort. "I think you're just hung-over and a little overwhelmed."

"Maybe, but if I talk to Sam now, like this, it'll make things worse. I can’t have a productive conversation in this state. If I try to talk to him now, Sam will just get hurt or mad or decide this whole thing is a bad idea because I’m crazy emotional girl who doesn’t know what she wants and can’t go to bed with someone without freaking out. I need to get out of here and get my head together."

Kevin nodded, privately starting to agree that at the very least, you needed to calm down and figure out what you wanted before talking to Sam. "OK. Breathe. I'll call Charlie. Maybe a night away and another perspective will help you sort it out."

You nod, taking deep breaths. Thank goodness you left Sam's room before the waterworks set in.

* * *

Sam stumbled into the kitchen, his mind reeling and sat heavily at the table, head in his hands, staring hard into the Formica table top for answers it didn’t have.

Dean came in a short while after, having (freakin’ finally) seen his brother out and about, and he was dying to hear what had happened after Sam left the bar with you slung over his shoulder like the spoils of plunder. He opened the fridge, not looking for anything in particular, and glanced at Sam. “Feeling a little to worse for wear there, Sasquatch?”

“Yeah; yeah I guess that’s one way to put it.” Sam rubbed at his face. His voice sounded rougher than when he woke up.

Dean pulled two beers out of the fridge and took a closer look at Sam. He didn’t look happy and that was a shock. He looked like he’d just come back from a bad hunt. “You look like someone cleaned your clock.”

“That also feels fairly accurate right now.”

Dean sat back in his chair, leaning against the wall, looking at his brother more closely. “Well you certainly are sporting a few marks on you.”

Sam looked confused so Dean pointed to Sam’s neck where there were a few nail marks in his skin, burning faintly. Sam was starting to become aware of some other tender nail track marks on his back and ass now that he was sitting down again. Sam traced them absently, thinking about when you put them there while he licked his way between your legs. He closed his eyes, pushing the provocative thoughts away. This was not the time.

Dean sat across from Sam, opened the beers and slid one across to his little brother. “So come on, spill. What happened last night?”

Sam thought back to your last words to him in his room: 'Don't worry, Sam. Nothing's changed.' He huffed out a harsh breath. “Nothing. Apparently _nothing_ happened last night.”

“What do you mean _nothing_?”

“I mean I thought something happened, but apparently I was wrong. I guess it was a whiskey-fueled mirage or something.”

Dean took a long pull from his beer. “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“So when you say nothing . . . do you mean literally nothing? Or do you mean just nothing you intended to happen?”

“It wasn’t exactly what I had intended. I mean I had ideas, and broadly some of them happened. I couldn’t have imagined the actual shape they took, but I had eventually intended more. I certainly intended for it to matter. I had many good intentions.” Sam gestured to the air, frustrated.

Dean shook his head. “OK, I followed almost none of that lawyer speak, but you know what they say: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“Well that fits. I certainly feel like I’m back in Hell.” Sam buried his face back in his hands, miserably.

“Oof; and you and I are two of the few living humans with actual understanding of what that means.”

“Yup. I’d nearly forgotten how unpleasant evisceration is.”

“Lucky us.”

“Lucky . . . yeah, lucky enough to have suffered, survived, and remember about a hundred or so years of torture in hell that does seem to be the sort of 'luck' I’m having.”

* * *

While Sam and Dean talked, Kevin spoke to Charlie. She was thrilled to have a geek night, so Kevin told you to pack a couple things, and he'd make something up for Sam.

"Thank you, Kev. I just can't talk to Sam right now. He'll know I've been crying, and want to know why . . . it'll just blow this whole thing out of proportion. Just tell Sam Charlie needs us for something, and I'll have to rain check breakfast. Something urgent enough that we have to leave now, but not so urgent that the guys need to come."

Kevin nodded. "Charlie's got a broken heart. Check."

"You're a genius."

"That's why you're buying us take out tonight."

"Deal."

Kevin headed down into the kitchen where Dean finished his beer, while Sam gulped his. 

* * *

“You know brother," Dean muses, recapturing Sam's attention. "I wouldn’t say nothing happened. I wouldn’t say that at all.”

“No?”

“It sure sounded like something from what little I heard.”

Sam chuckles a little. He can't help it. It's the involuntary response at being called out on having loud, amazing naked times. “How much did you hear?”

Dean grins back, grateful something is cracking Sam's mood at least for a moment. “No idea. I don’t know how much I missed. But _nothing_ sure was loud.”

Sam grinned wickedly for the first time since getting caught in the day’s undertow. “What would you like me to say to that?"

“Maybe admit that _nothing_ was at least pretty damn fun.”

Just like that Sam's smile was gone again. Fun. That word tasted bitter as dandelions on his tongue now. “It was.” Sam allowed, he wouldn’t say the word. Wouldn't repeat it, not right now. “Until it wasn’t.”

Dean chewed his tongue. “And about what hour would you say that happened? Because I passed out around four.”

“Around eleven or so this morning.”

“Drinkers remorse?"

"Not necessarily...I guess now though… maybe. Fucking hell; it's just such a mess right now...I should have just stayed home. We shouldn’t be talking about this in the kitchen.” Sam gasped as he finished downing his beer.

Dean nodded. “No, we shouldn’t. You need something stronger than that beer to wash down all that  _nothing_  that happened. Let’s head out for a few hours, go for a drive, something.”

“Hmm.” Sam nods, absently.

Kevin walked into the kitchen, trying to pretend he hadn't heard Dean for the time being. "Hey guys."

Dean grins devilishly at Kevin, while Sam, tries to look tired rather than upset and mostly succeeds in looking guilty as hell. "So how was your night?"

Kevin doesn't have to fake his grin, thinking back to Talia. "It was magically delicious."

Even Sam manages to snort with laughter at that, Dean laughs too. "Good for you, Kev. What are you up to?"

"I just wanted to let you know, _______ and I are heading out to visit Charlie for a the night. She just called upset about some break up and asked for a geek night in. _______'s throwing a couple things in a bag and getting her car ready." Sam and Dean exchanged a look that Kevin couldn't read, so Kevin just ignored it, plowing on. "Sam, she said to tell you she's sorry she has to rain check breakfast, but Charlie was in pretty bad shape over the phone."

Sam nods working on his facial expression again. "Sure, tell Charlie we're thinking about her and ________ and I can catch up when you get back."

Sam is looking guilty again so when he tries to speak, Dean cuts him off. "Yeah, tell Charlie. Whoever hurt her is clearly not worth her time anyway."

Kevin forced a smile, still trying to get a read on Sam. "Yeah. Will do. Later guys."

As Kevin heads back to get you and head out of the bunker to visit Charlie, Dean looks at Sam, “Well, I guess we don’t have to go anywhere to talk privately after all.”

Sam heaves a sigh of relief. “I guess not.”

“Target practice?”

“Hell yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry for the massive delay. I started writing the next couple chapters, and it sort of had a big bang moment where the story expanded way beyond my plan. The drama also got very real and complex, and I had to make sure it made sense. I hope that worked out. The reader is hungover so some things will take time to come up and be discussed. Some of what happens next may be influenced by feedback. Also, I'm not sure if Sam actually remembers any of hell anymore, but for the purposes of that one part, he does. I mean I think, Cas took on the pain, but Sam might remember some of it in a detached way like looking at pictures of someone elses's life.
> 
> I am also sorry about my inconsistent use of tenses-I welcome someone willing to beta that. I'm balancing this story with like six other writing projects and my brain was not up to making that aspect perfect.
> 
> Carry on my wayward readers. Sorry about any hearts that may have been ripped out. I swear I'll take good care of them until they're ready to go home.


	7. On the Lash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drama continues. On the lash is Irish slang for getting drunk. You and Sam drunkenly commiserate separately with family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters was sort of awesome to write. It was a challenge trying to write this sort of hot mess from both perspectives in a way that was honest and without any vilification. I hope you all think it worked out. The brothers do get into it a little and there may be a certain TV sitcom that inspired a little of the dialogue and for that . . . I'm not even sorry. (My only clue)
> 
> I dedicate this chapter to the pain all Supernatural fans are about to experience as we rejoin the brothers this week for Season 10: Long may it be renewed. (Seriously, I want this show to be on longer than the Simpsons; I'll keep watching no matter what.)
> 
> Also, please don't ever drink and handle firearms. This detail was inspired by my own experience with hunters, but is always a stupid idea even when no one gets hurt.

♪ _Hurricane_ by MS MR; Need You Now from Lady Antebellum; _Am I Wrong_ by Nico  & Vinz;  _Airplanes_ (feat. Hayley Williams of Paramore) by B.o.B ♪

Charlie is waiting when you get to her place. "Hey, welcome to the Shire, bitches. Kevin wasn't overly specific on the phone, so I will let you explain what the hell has you taking refuge from the Winchesters at my little hobbit hole." She wraps you into a warm hug. "It's not hell, right?" She pulls back to look you in the eyes. "You're not fleeing a bunch of demons, right?"

You smile in spite of everything. It's impossible not to appreciate Charlie's geek cred even at times like this. "Nope. No demons, and it's actually just the one Winchester."

"Dean?"

"Nope, Sam."

"What the hell could _Sam_ have possibly done to drive you out of the bunker?"

You shake your head miserably. "It's complicated. We brought Chinese."

Kevin nods along and brings his bag and the Chinese food through the door.

Charlie nods, locking her door. "Well, I have Munchkin, 80s fantasy flicks, and booze to go with our ice cream, so sit down and tell me everything."

Thanks." You sit on her couch and her initial question sinks in. "Why did you think it was Dean?"

Charlie shrugged, pushing a carton of Phish Food ice cream into your hand. "Dean's a little rough around the edges sometimes and both of you can be bullheaded and like to be alpha dog. Maybe you both got a little stir crazy and started pissing each other off. Or maybe he started a pranking war, and you were done refereeing or being pranked."

You shrug. "Valid on both counts. I mean generally, Dean and I are good at giving each other space when we're feeling stir crazy or hostile, but every now and then we do egg each other on."

"But pranks gone wrong is not what has us fleeing the bunker." Kevin cut in.

"Which is why we will start with the ice cream." Charlie handed a pint of Chubby Hubby to Kevin.

You sat down on her couch and start digging into your ice cream. "So you know how I sort of have a crush on Sam?"

Charlie nods, poking her spoon into her pint of ice cream while she teases you. "Sure, like Kaylee sort of had a thing for Simon on _Firefly_. Yes?"

You pause, cocking your head as you determine whether you're being insulted. "Sounds about right." You tell her about your plan to test the waters, and how making a move on Sam led to him carrying you out of the bar pirate-style.

"That sounds promising." Charlie grinned, taking another bite of ice cream. "Then what happened?"

"Yeah, tell us. I didn't get to hear the good stuff this morning; you were way too upset for that." Kevin encouraged.

"It was incredible! We were so not ourselves. We were flirty and all over each other and so much sexual energy it was off the charts. I had no idea Sam could be such a . . . scoundrel. The things he said were so hot . . . he could do phone sex for extra money. And Sam brought out this side in me . . .  I had no idea I could be so forward with him . . ."

Charlie nodded. "So, how was the sex?"

You heave a deep, dissatisfied sigh for the morning sex that wasn't. "That's one of the weird things. Sam didn't want to have sex. I mean he wanted to, but Sam thought we should wait until we were sober. At the time, I thought it was sweet. Sam said something about wanting to wait until we were sober, and I thought it was because what was happening meant something more, you know? But now I'm wondering if it was because he thought things were getting out of hand and didn't want more damage control once the booze wore off. Especially because last night, Sam, suggested morning sex and this morning, that is not how things played out."

Charlie furrowed her brows in confusion. "So what happened this morning? Why do you think he'd feel like he needed to do damage control?"

"That was weird for other reasons and part of why I think Sam felt things were getting out of hand. So I had this dream, nightmare really, about Sam basically telling me that last night was just two friends letting off steam. Then I wake up and Sam says something about being embarrassed. It sounded like he was saying that he drank too much and let things get out of hand, but he was trying not to let it be a big deal."

"Did you ask Sam about it?" Charlie says it with as little judgment as she can, but you can tell that's what she thinks you should have done. After all, you'll have to eventually.

"No, it was too close to my dream, which I was still freaking out about, so I said something about checking on Kevin and meeting Sam for breakfast in the kitchen and then I grabbed my stuff and got out."

Charlie nearly choked on her Candy Bar Pie ice cream. "Did you get dressed first? Please tell me you didn't. Tell me you ran naked through the bunker."

You succumb to a fit of giggles, while Kevin answers for you. "No, she pulled on her shirt and skirt first and some socks."

"Damn." Charlie feigns sever disappointment. "I was enjoying that visual. Gotcha. Wow. I should just hang out by at the bunker and watch the crazy happen next time my wifi is out. BTW, Kevin what is our cover story if Sam or Dean ask?"

Kevin shrugs. "You're heartbroken and needed a geek night."

Charlie winks conspiratorially at Kevin. "Close to the truth, even if it's not _my_ heart in a blender. I like it. So anything else?"

You shake your head, but Kevin starts shifting on the couch, looking uncomfortable. "I might have overheard something," he admits. "Right before I told the guys we were leaving, Sam and Dean were talking in the kitchen."

Your felt sick, hot and cold like someone smeared icy hot on your face, neck, and torso, also possibly inside your spleen. "Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"I thought it would be easier to discuss reasonably now. You were pretty upset this morning." Kevin explained reasonably.

You nod. So it was bad. "OK. Out with it."

"I don't know what they were talking about, so this might be about something else entirely." Kevin's trying to downplay it-not a good sign.

You and Charlie roll your eyes, but she speaks, "Sure, it's theoretically possible. Out with it."

"OK, I heard Sam say something about not talking about whatever they were talking about in the kitchen and then Dean said something about Sam needing something stronger than beer to wash down 'all that nothing that happened' and suggested they go for a drive and a drink. Not like drinking and driving, just like driving to a bar or something, I think."

Your voice was gone. The words 'all that nothing' echoed in your head.

Kevin plowed ahead, trying not to watch you get upset. "Then Dean said something about drinker's remorse and Sam said maybe. Then Sam was talking about how things were such a mess now, and he should have just stayed home."

Your heart dropped out of your chest and into your stomach like a hot ball of lead.

Charlie frowned and looked at Kevin. "Are you sure that's what you heard, _exactly_?"

Kevin nodded, reluctantly. "Yeah, I was listening carefully because I was sort of eaves dropping. I was hoping they were talking about things, and I'd hear something helpful so I could go back and say: See it's ok. Big misunderstanding. No problem."

Charlie nodded, and you started looking green. She poured rum into your carton of Phish Food. "Here, drink this. It'll dull the edges. Did Dean sound snarky?"

Kevin considered. "When he was talking about the 'nothing,' he sounded sarcastic, but when he was talking about drinker's remorse, he sounded incredulous. I still don't have any context, though. Dean could have been being snarky about something that happened with his night out for all we know."

Charlie considered. "True. Did you see Sam? How did he look?"

"Sam sounded miserable. And when I came into the kitchen to tell them we were going, Sam was definitely being weird. He seemed guilty and wrung out."

"Hmmm." Charlie deliberated.

You stare intently at her for a few minutes, before your patience wore out. "So, he likes me? He likes me not?"

Charlie shook her head. "Let's just watch one of these movies for a little while. I want to ponder."

You slump back into the couch, accepting, and Kevin put in _Labyrinth_ while you curled under a blanket, devouring your rum-drowned ice cream like it could fix everything. "You know what the worst thing is?"

Charlie turns to look at you questioningly. "What?"

You stir your ice cream, carefully. "Normally, when something's wrong, Sam is one of the first people that I go to talk to after Kevin."

Kevin turns to look at you, sympathetically. "We'll figure this out."

"Promise?" Your eyes are a little wet, but you're trying to keep it from spilling out. You hate crying.

"Promise." Kevin squeezes your hand. "Now, focus on David Bowie. I'm not even into guys, but he's pretty distracting in Labyrinth."

Charlie nods. "It's the pants. Once you notice them, you can't not notice them ever again. You become mesmerized by his pelvic sorcery."

This cues a memory from some procrastinating web surfing you did a week ago. "Did you know David Bowie is bisexual?"

Charlie sucks her spoon. "I'm not really surprised."

"Me either. Just interesting." You hoped The Goblin King would be enough to distract you, but because it was Sam that you need to be distracted from, you weren't very optimistic. You asked Charlie to top off your pint. Perhaps more rum would balance the scales.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean were in the bunker's shooting range, drinking beers and firing rounds at the targets. Dean was talking, and Sam was switching out the targets. Sam was doing relatively well, considering, but Dean's bullet groupings were still tighter.

"Look man, I don't know what to tell you." Dean called down the range. "I don't know what's going on with her right now, but she definitely wanted you last night. I mean, we both took a pass at her and while I was mainly just playing, you clearly weren't, and she clearly didn't want to be spanking me even in play last night after you made your move. You and I both know that in the same situation a week ago, before you made a move on her, she would have spanked my ass for all the world to see just for shits and giggles."

Sam considered the possibility that you just didn't want to spank Dean in front of Cas, given the angel's obvious feelings for his older brother, but decided to keep that to himself. Instead, Sam said aloud, "Fine, but I knew she was interested last night too. I mean the whole bar and everyone between the bar and the Impala knew she was interested last night. Today, is where the trouble started."

Dean sent the targets back across the range, buying time to think. "Before things went to hell, how was it?"

Sam's face took on a dazed happy expression while he remembered that Dean hadn't seen before. "Amazing. Absolutely amazing. Better than I imagined."

"And I'm sure you can imagine quite a bit." Dean snickered. "So what happened this morning?"

Sam shook his head, and threw up his free hand. "I don't know. It doesn't make any sense. "

"Yeah, usually I'm the one that puts my foot in it."  

Sam nodded absently, considering an idea that had been nagging at him. His tone was quiet and a little broken as Sam started to give his fear voice. "Maybe we're looking at this all wrong."

Dean took another pull from his beer. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, maybe we're ignoring the possibility that _all_ she was interested in was hooking up. Maybe she never wanted anything more, and she's worried that our friendship is gonna get screwed up now or whatever. Maybe she just wanted a foxhole friend, like Annie and Bobby."

"And Annie and me . . . and Annie and Soulless you . . ." Dean's voice trailed off suggestively while he took another swallow.

"Yeah, exactly." Sam spat bitterly. "We don't need to rehash 'things I did without a soul.'"

"What about 'things you did under the influence of addictive, mind-altering substances'? Or 'things you did without your sanity,' or 'things you did while possessed'?"

Sam lowered his gun and stared at Dean with his best bitchface. Dean always had to take it that one step too far. "You wanna play _that_ game? Really?! Fine. How about things you did under the influence of guilt? Or grief? Or rage? Or daddy issues?"

Dean's temper snapped. "Hey! We _both_ have all of those."

" _So?_ I'm pretty sure we've both been manipulated by demons and mind-altering substances too!"

"Fine! You're right. Let's skip the whose-done-more-fucked-up-shit wank off and get back to the drama at hand." Dean huffs. "So basically, you think the problem is that you're the chick in the little drama?"

Sam's bitchface shifted, slightly. He took a couple deep swallows of his beer. "I prefer the term 'emotionally available adult,' but yeah, maybe all that crying and what she said is just because she doesn't want anything more from me but doesn't want to lose me as a friend."

Dean considered, finishing his current beer and opening another. "If she was just looking for a hook up, why _you_?"

Sam glared. "What do you mean ' _why me_ '?"

"Come on man, you're hardly a love 'em and leave 'em guy. She knows both of us, and I am way more prone to hook ups than you, so if she wanted something casual why didn't she zero in on me?"

Sam frowned, pretending to be seriously pondering. It was a fair question, and he had no reasonable answer. Dean certainly flirted with you enough that if you had wanted him, you could have just raised the stakes a little, but you hadn't. You had all but ignored Dean. Sam didn't feel like actually talking that through. That line of thinking led to the possibility that there was a meaningful reason you didn’t want him now. "Maybe she likes tall guys."

Now it was Dean's turn to glare. "Hey, I am six, two! Fuck off! I am plenty tall enough. Maybe she just likes guys who look more like girls, what with your pretty, pretty hair and all."

Sam thought about saying that you were probably just trying to avoid getting smote by a jealous boyfriend, but again, he declined and threw out the more obvious cut, smirking. "Well, my 'feet' are bigger than yours." He finished his beer and opened the next.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'll let that one go since you're halfway to watching _When Harry Met Sally_ with a couple pints of Hagen Das."

"That's very big of you." Sam put down his beer and fired off a few rounds, hitting the target in the gut, heart, spleen, and forehead: all the places he hurt most.

Dean glanced at Sam, and then back at his own target. "Look man, even if you're right, and I'm not saying you are, just because it starts out as something casual doesn't mean things can't change down the road. You may recall that I had a wild weekend that eventually evolved into a real relationship."

Sam lowered his weapon and looked over at his brother, flabbergasted. He couldn't believe Dean brought up Lisa in even a roundabout way.

Dean looked at Sam and then away. Even now, Sam still got puppy eyes about it, and Dean couldn't look into them and say what he needed to. Regardless, his voice was still rougher than usual when he spoke. "I know it didn't work out for me, but at least in your case, she's in the life. You don't have to protect her from anything, and you're already friends. So maybe you just need to keep nudging into her pants and you'll end up in her heart."

Sam wasn't sure whether to be disgusted or touched. His mouth was still hanging open. "I . . . I'm not sure how to respond to that. It's not exactly Dr. Phil, but that isn't the worst advice."

"Gee, thanks." Dean grumbled, annoyed at feeling old pain so close to the surface.

"No, seriously, maybe you're right." Sam considered as he spoke. "Maybe _________ and I need to just spend some more time together socially and keep letting things happen and see where it goes. Maybe, if I just reassure her that us hooking up won't put our friendship in danger, eventually she'll be open to something more. I mean, maybe she's just been in the life too long, and she's just not used to considering anything stable."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I mean we've both been there, but that means you have to stop moping around when she gets back and start getting your game face on."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, Dean. I'm not really one for playing games."

"It's not like you're messing with her to use her and lose her. Just keep the tone light, you know, like you were last night at the bar. And if all else fails, add alcohol to the mix again. That helped the first time, right?" Sam nodded uncertainly while Dean continued. "The key, Sammy, is make sure you don't get sucked into a bunch of lunch dates and group things. You want to get some one-on-one time with her, or you'll just get friend-zoned."

Sam snorted. “I’m not sure you can get friend-zoned after certain lines have been crossed."

A cocky smile flashed over Dean's expression. "Like panty lines? Tell me you crossed panty lines." He looked like a kid that just found his dad's copy of _Playboy_.

Sam just shook his head and smiled.

Dean slapped his shoulder and chuckled. "That'a boy, Sammy. Let's fire off another clip and then make some dinner. Chili sound ok?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I could definitely go for some comfort food tonight."

"Deal then. We'll go to the store, get the fixin's, more beer, and some pie. I need me some pie."

Sam just kept shaking his head and grinning at his brother. The familiar exchange with his brother felt every bit as comforting as the prospect of chili and beer.

* * *

 

Back at Charlie's, _Labyrinth_ was long over, the credits for _Willow_ were rolling, you all were done with the Chinese food for the night, and Kevin was pulling another movies, while you and Charlie, started setting up her giant air mattress so you could all crash out watching _The Neverending Story_.

"Maybe Sam got struck by the dust of broken heart." You start muttering, tucking flannel _Dr. Who_ sheets in around the edges of the mattress. "You know?" You start quoting Mad Martegan. "You are my sun, my moon, my starlit sky, without you, I dwell in darkness."

Kevin responds by quoting Sorcha: "You dwell in darkness without me and it went away?!!"

Charlie laughs at the two of you a little envious of your tight bond that came with being roommates. "I don't think it was spell work, probably, but with the Winchesters in the mix . . . who knows? Regardless, I think the dream was just that: a dream. Sam's not a one-night-stand sort of guy, so maybe he's just feeling a little self conscious about how fast things went. I mean he refused sex under extremely tempting circumstances from the sounds of it."

"What about what Dean said?" You want to believe her, but it's _Sam_ , so the stakes are as high as it gets.

Charlie shrugged. "I think we have to push that aside for now. We really don't know enough about that context."

You nod philosophically and stir Vanilla Coke into the second half of your pint of rum and ice cream. "Castiel did say that Sam has lustful thoughts about me."

Kevin and Charlie zoned in on you.

"You never told me that." Kevin sounded reproachful.

"Sorry; I forgot." You flash helpless puppy eyes at Kevin. "There's been a lot going on in the last day or so."

Charlie pursed her lips, adding things up, and turned to Kevin. "What was Sam like the night you all went to the bar?"

"I was a little distracted." Kevin admitted. "But when I checked in, Sam couldn't take his eyes off her. He kept coming over to where she was and walking beside her, sitting beside her, following her around the bar . . . Sam was definitely zoned in."

You gesture into the dismissively. "Sam also showed me his underwear at the bar, but that doesn't mean he wants to be my steady."

Charlie and Kevin both stared at you again, but this time Charlie spoke first. "Sam did _what_?"

You sipped your vanilla Coke and rum from the pint, acting as nonchalant as possible, trying to hide the way remembering what Sam did to prove Blarney made your heart race, your skin flush, and your panties melt. "Showed me his briefs at the bar. They were green. It was part of the game." You tried to explain logically like somehow this was no big deal, just noteworthy. It was a test. If you _acted_ like Sam's behavior was nothing important and convinced them you _thought_ it was nothing important, but they still argued it _was_ something important, it might actually _be_ important. It might actually be _real_.

Charlie was still dumbstruck. "Sam . . . Winchester . . . exposed himself . . . in a public place? Are you sure you don't mean Dean? How many drinks did you have?"

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, it was Sam. I _know_ the difference. They smell different for a start. No, I was not so drunk that I imagined it. I was sober enough to make sure Cas checked out Kevin's hook up to make sure Kevin came home to us alive and well."

Charlie shot a quick grin at Kevin, beaming with pride. "Kevin Solo, you hooked up last night?"

Kevin grinned, "Maybe."

"Sweet. You're up next. I want to hear all about her. Seriously, _all_ about her. Are there pictures?"

Kevin laughed. "No. No pictures, but I will tell you everything. Her name is Talia. ______ helped me pick her up. And yeah, she would know the difference between Sam and Dean. We'll come back to the smell thing after you're drunker." Kevin looked at you, shaking his head. "How much did I miss at the bar after I left?"

You think back. "Maybe half an hour."

"Wow. You really brought out a different side of Sam last night, huh?" Kevin toasted you with his pint of Chubby Hubby.

You smirk, returning the gesture. You can't help it. "Maybe I did. I mean I can't say I've ever seen Sam with sexy moves like that before, but it's not like we all go out drinking together very often either."

Charlie shook her head trying to clear it. "I can't believe it. I mean, I know Sam's not exactly a, well, a Samwise Gamgee, but that seems so out of character for him."

"Yeah I know, but again, as Cas would say, licentious behavior does not imply a desire for anything more than future nudity."

"True." Charlie admitted.

Kevin's eyebrow rose. "Nice Cas impression."

"Thanks; I practice in the shower."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "What do you want out of all this? Do you want more than 'future nudity'?"

You stir your ice cream. You can feel the rum loosening a truth you've been sitting on, one that's been fermenting in embarrassment since this morning. "I don't _know_ exactly. I mean, I don't have labels on it all yet. I never really thought it all the way through." The words are slipping out of you, slurring together with their need for release. "I just wanted to see if Sam wanted to make a move. I didn't really consider the rest. I mean, I don't want to be his sex buddy. I mean I do, but not _just_ that." Your ability to express yourself was _not_ improving with time and rum. "I also want snuggling, and I want to pet Sam's hair, and I don't want other girls to have him."

"They don't have him now." Kevin snickered. "Sam's pretty much been a monk since they found the bunker."

"I think since a bit before that." Charlie added, with a side glance at Kevin. "Regardless, I think that snuggling and hair petting could be a part of a friends-with-benefits arrangement, but if you want exclusivity, it sounds like you want to date Sam on some level."

You sink back into the couch, imagining dating Sam. "I bet Sam would get me flowers." You muse, smiling. "I could make Sam cookies, and Sam could give me neck massages while we watch movies."

"That sounds like dating." Kevin took a spoonful from his pint. "I'm sorry; I have to ask: how did _none_ of this come up last night?"

You gave Kevin a look of helpless exasperation. "I don't fracking _know_. The magic of whiskey. It kept me in the moment."

"How very Buddhist." Kevin mock-bowed from his seat.

You tilt you head at Kevin in acknowledgement. "Very, but now it's a mess. Of course, even if Sam and I had a meaningful discussion of our intentions last night, there's no guarantee we'd remember much of it. It'd be blurred with hours of nakedness."

"Sure, but maybe you'd remember enough so you would have felt comfortable talking with Sam today instead of escaping here." Charlie pointed out.

"Fine, maybe you're right, OK? But that's not what happened. I mean a couple times, I thought Sam started to say something that equated to waiting for right-place-right-time, but he could have meant it a million ways! _Maybe_ Sam didn't want us to have sex in Dean's car? _Maybe_ he didn't want us to get caught having sex in the kitchen. _Maybe_ he thought I was too drunk to have full sex with him last night. I don't know!" You snap. " _Maybe_ I didn't ask Sam to clarify because I wanted to have a taste of him before I got my answer . . . so if his answer wasn't what I wanted to hear, I'd have something to remember . . . which, looking back, was a _terrible_ plan because as much as I do remember, all my memories are like watching a movie under water when what I really want right now is to have just _one_ sharp memory of naked Sam. _Maybe_ that makes me shallow and my feelings for him shallow, but I already knew what it was for Sam to _matter_ as a person. The thing I thought I didn't know was what Sam looks like in all his manly, naked glory. What I _actually_ didn't know was what I was risking to see him that way or how _much_ Sam means to me or how _much_ I care about what I _mean_ to Sam. So what the _fuck_ do I do now?"

Charlie and Kevin just stared at you for a minute while you stared into your pint, miserable and ashamed, tears threatening. Then they wrapped you in a huge hug.

'That's a lot of places to not have sex." Charlie pointed out, trying to ease the tension. "It's pretty surprising you two didn't. Whatever his reasons, they must have been pretty important to him."

Kevin nods at Charlie's observation. "_____, I watch you two every day in a sitcom-with-a-live-in-studio-audience sort of way. Whatever you feel for Sam and whatever he feels for you, it's not shallow. Maybe it's not what you want it to be. I don't know, but you _care_ about each other. You _matter_ to each other. That I'm sure about."

"I do. Sam's one of my best friends."

"I know." Charlie, pets your hair.

You try to make a joke to keep from crying, "You know, if Kevin gives me a neck massage, I would have my ideal relationship with the two of you." Kevin and Charlie laugh like you need them to, so you laugh too like they need you too because if you can still make each other feel better, it'll all be ok. "I mean except . . ." Your voice trails off as you all pull out of the hug. Except that they're not Sam. You don't say it and by their faces, you can tell that you don't need to say it. They know.

Charlie, gets up and grabs some blankets to tuck around all three of you on the mattress. "Well, if Castiel says that Sam in at least in lust with you, he is. But it sounds like Sam needs things to move slower, just slow them down. So when you get back to the bunker, just take things slower. Start hanging out with Sam socially a little more, just the two of you, if you can, but try to keep things light and fully-clothed for awhile until he catches up. Make it clear how much Sam's friendship means to you, and don't make any moves for a repeat of last night for awhile. Now that you both know there's chemistry between you, so there's no rush, right?"

You nod your head. "Right. No rush." You parrot, wondering how the hell you are going to keep your hands off Sam for a few weeks of bonding. You were going to have to avoid alcohol entirely. Alcohol is how you got in this mess in the first place.

Charlie and Kevin surrounded you with hugging again for a minute, while Charlie continued. "Look, Kevin will be there when you go back tomorrow, and he can keep me posted and I'll come by for a visit soonish. This is gonna sort out."

You nod again, trying to believe her.

Charlie saw that you weren't really tuned in anymore. "OK, a few more questions: when you first kissed Sam at the bar, how drunk were you?"

You think back, giggling at first when you remember Sam's test to make sure you weren't too drunk. "Meh, six drinks in over an hour. I was drunk, but I could still walk and talk. Sam had about half that, and he's a giant."

"Next question: How do Sam and Dean smell different?" Kevin giggles.

You giggle with him. " Dean smells like whiskey and leather, and Sam smells like sandalwood and books."

Kevin takes another drink. "There are so many jokes about what those two should smell like."

"Such as?"

"Codependency and daddy issues?"

"Oi! That's enough of that." You pipe up. "Even if it's true, they are not here to throw mud your way, Honor roll."

Charlie throws a pillow at Kevin and tries to regain your attention. "Next question, the first time, did you kiss Sam, or did he kiss you?"

You closed your eyes, tried to remember the exact moment at the bar. "Same time. We kissed at the same time and the rest of the world went on pause." You whimpered a little recalling the scent of Sam's hair, the feel of his stubble, the softness of his lips, the hard press of Sam's body surrounding you: Perfection.

Charlie and Kevin exchanged a look you didn't see. They were both thinking that you and Sam were already in over your heads with this, but sadly unaware.

"Well at least it did for me." Your eye opened, wet now. "I don't even know where to start for Sam and I to just have a normal conversation right now." You laugh frustrated. "Maybe it'll snow and Sam and I can build a snowman named Olaf." You joke.

Charlie smiled. "Maybe. Or maybe you and Sam could just go out to play a game of pool or stay in and play _Munchkin_ or _Cards Against Humanity_. I mean, you don't have to start out one-on-one. Maybe you could start with something in a group to help you both feel at ease or getting brunch out of the bunker. You said you have to beg off brunch today, right?"

You nod. "Yes, brunch, then game night and building a snowman, then the sex." You reply sleepily.

"Maybe with a few more steps." Charlie amends, "but yeah, that's the right direction."

* * *

 

Sam tries not to think about the commentary you and Dean always make when you watch _Die Hard_ movies and how much you would have enjoyed watching with them. Sam also tries not to think about how good you would have felt curled up beside him, leaning your head on his thigh while he strokes your hair.

Dean pulled out all five _Die Hard_ movies, intending to make sure Sam didn't have any more time to over-think things with you before you and Kevin returned. Dean and Sam are settled in the library watching _Die Hard_ and eating Texas-style chili with cornbread when Castiel pops in.

Dean waves a hand. "Hey Cas. I'm getting another bowl and a beer. Want some?"

"No. Thank you, Dean."

Dean turns to Sam, who's staring off into space. "Sam?"

Sam refocuses on Dean. "Yeah, but bring the whiskey too. I think it's time for some boiler makers. I'm done with sobriety for the day."

Dean nods and heads out while Castiel looks around the room. "Where are _____ and Kevin?"

Sam glances up at Castiel. "At Charlie’s."

"Is Charlie in trouble?"

"Not really, just heartbroken, apparently."

Castiel tilts his head, brow furrowed in confusion. "Your tone suggests that you do not entirely believe this. Why would they lie to you?"

Sam lets out a deep sigh, hating the words he's about to say, hating that they might be true. "Maybe _______ is trying to avoid me right now, so she made up a reason to spare my feelings."

Castiel's frown deepens. "Why would she be avoiding you? You both seemed to be trying to spend _more_ time in each other's company rather than less."

"Maybe she is feeling embarrassed about . . . things."

"Sam . . . I am do not understand."

"That makes two of us." Sam muttered, finishing his beer, his eyes on the screen, but his mind far away.

"When I last saw you, you and ________ seemed to be intertwined. What happened after you left the bar?"

Dean came back and handed Sam a pint glass and a bottle of Johnny Walker. "That’s getting to be a loaded question, Cas."

Castiel sat down at one of the chairs, and they all watched the movie in silence for a minute before Castiel turned to Sam again. "Did you engage in intercourse?"

"Cas!" Sam and Dean shouted together.

"I'm sorry. Is that too personal a question?"

Dean started to shoot back a reply, his big brother mantle coming down hard, but Sam, put a hand on Dean's arm, recognizing that Castiel wasn't trying to be intrusive, just concerned. "Normally, yeah, that's a pretty personal question, Cas."

"But I hear men asking each other that sort of question all the time. You and Dean have joked often about Dean's sexual conquests in the past."

Sam thought he noticed Dean and Cas were pointedly not making eye contact, but maybe he was imagining things. Maybe the alcohol was _finally_ catching up to him. "Yeah, but the rules are different when it's someone you care about. You don't brag about . . . being intimate . . . with someone that matters."

"Well, at least you only brag in private." Dean chimes in. "And in a respectful manner." Dean amends at a dark look from the other two.

"So you _do_ care about _____." Castiel concludes.

"Of course I do." Sam takes another deep swallow of his drink before he thought too deeply about how much he cared. "That's why we didn't have sex. I didn't want it to be some drunken hook up."

"But you were drunk for the rest of it." Castiel points out. Sam looks stunned, but Castiel continues. "I'm not trying to be insulting, Sam. I'm just trying to understand. If you care about her, and you didn't want it to be a drunken hook up, then why did you start 'hooking up' while you were both drinking in the first place?"

It was a reasonable question. Sam processed that a minute, finishing his first boilermaker. For someone of his size, drunkenness was not something that happened without intention and effort and he had every intention of being hammered before long. "Honestly, it wasn't a plan. We were just having fun at the bar and flirting like we always do and then all of a sudden, we weren't just playing. It wasn't just for fun. She said something to me at the bar . . ." His voice trailed off as Sam remembered, a whisper of a smile dancing on his lips. "And she looked at me the way I've never seen her look at anyone else before, and then it was all different."

"How did she look at you, Sam?" Castiel's eyes went a deeper blue as his need to know intensified.

Sam hesitated, the alcohol passing over him in a wave of blissful fuck-it-all relaxation.

"Come on, Sammy." Dean encouraged. "This is a private, respectful environment with people who know and care about both of you . . . out with it."

Sam rolled his eyes, smiling. "Fine. She looked at me like she wanted to see what I looked like without clothes on."

Dean grinned. "And what did she say?"

Sam smiles, blushing and laughing while he looked away. "She, ah, indicated she enjoyed a certain naked activity and gave me a look that said she'd like to do it with me."

"And did she?" Dean encouraged.

Sam poured another drink. "As a gentleman, I cannot-"

"Hell with that! They're not here! Come on, Sam!"

Sam took a swig of whiskey, then he smirked at his brother and held up two fingers.

Dean cackled and poured himself another drink. "Good for you! I guess she does 'enjoy that activity.' "

Sam takes another swig of whiskey. "You have no idea." His smirk is significant, and Dean can imagine quite a bit too.

They settle back in, finish the first movie and launch into the second. The drinking continues, and inhibitions and good judgment are a blurry, booze-soaked memory.

Sam's been replaying the night at the bar with you since the first movie when Castiel was asking him questions about it. Shockingly, his obsessive mind found another point of concern. "Dean?"

"Hmm?" Dean was starting to zone out, well and truly caught up in the movie, trying to remember the last time, he had a chance to sit and binge watch a bunch of action movies.

"I wasn't quite myself last night." Sam's voice is rough, and Dean's starts to pay more attention.-

"What do you mean?"

"You know how I usually am with women?" Sam took another deep swallow from his glass.

"Sensitive and awkward? Yes." Dean hadn't tried to keep pace with Sam's drinking on any level, so he was still nursing his first boiler maker, long since flat. He needed to be sharp enough to carry Sam to bed if he passed out somewhere inconvenient. Dean took another swallow of his drink. 'Sharp enough' didn't mean sober at his tolerance.

Sam rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Last night, I wasn't like that. I was, well more like you."

Dean slanted Sam a curious look, lowering the movie's volume. "More like me, _how_?"

Sam gestured vaguely in Dean's direction. "The way I was hitting on her, the way we were talking back and forth, it was more . . . " He couldn't remember the word, and Sam couldn't say what he was thinking since that was more images and less actual words.

"Provocative? Assertive? Disreputable?" Castiel suggested.

Sam cackled, drunkenly. "Yes to all!"

"Hey!" Dean objected.

Cas just gave him a look that said, 'Come on; own your shit, Dean.'

"OK," Dean conceded. "You're right. Sam, is that what you were like?"

Sam poured another drink for himself and slurred, "Again, _yes_. What if she didn't like it and that's why she's being weird?"

Cas tilted his head sympathetically. "You mean because your roguish behavior made her worry that she doesn't know you like she thought she did? Or maybe because your actions made you seem like the sort of person who is cavalier in their romantic associations?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, gesturing in Castiel's direction. "That."

Dean groaned into his hands, beyond exasperated. "Which is it Sam? Is she only interested in you for sex, or is she looking for a sensitive boy next door to take to the sock hop, and she's worried you just want up her skirt? Pick a direction for your angst!"

Sam groaned and took another swallow of alcohol. "I don't know. I just feel like I fuck up everything I touch."

Dean and Castiel exchanged a look. Dean shook his head slowly to clear it a little. His voice was gentler when he spoke. "Come on, Sam. Don't go Dark Side on us. 'Once down the dark path you go, forever will it dominate your destiny.'"

Sam covered his face with his hands, muffling his voice. "That's just _The Force_ from _Star Wars_ , Dean."

"And also _The Force of Alcohol_ , Sam. Trust, me as drinking goes, I am the Master to your Padawan learner."

Sam gave a half smile, lowering his hands while still managing to look miserable. "_____ called Kevin her Padawan at picking up people."

Dean nodded, moving his chair to sit a little closer to his brother. "Yeah, she did. And she used those skills to pick up _you_ , Sammy"

"Yeah." Sam admitted. "She was pretty good at it."

"That's it, Sammy. Think happy thoughts. Stay in the drunk, happy place." Dean handed Sam his drink again, his voice slurred.

"She really does make me happy, Dean. Like even before all this." Sam gestures vaguely, but Dean knows what he means.

"I know she does, Sammy. Come on. Tell me two things you like most about her, and then let's go back to the movie."

Sam considered a few minutes, and then he laughed like a kid about to tell a dirty joke. When he spoke, Sam whispered loudly, which added to the effect. "I thought of two. Spoiler alert: they match."

Dean laughed and shook his head, patting Sam's arm. "That's it, buddy. Keep your mind nestled right there in that warm, soft happy place between those two 'happy thoughts.'"

Sam grinned in drunken reverie, and Dean turned the volume back up and returned his focus to the movie, glancing back at Sam now and then.

Dean started snoring around the start of _Die Hard with a Vengeance_. When Sam teased him, Dean just snarked back, "Hey, it's your fault. You two kept me up half the night."

“I’d apologize if I was sorry.” Sam is blissfully hammered and grinning like a kid who got away with eating desert first.

“That’a boy." Dean mumbled, eyes sliding closed again.

* * *

Somewhere around the middle of the third movie, Sam was very drunk and Dean was snoring. Castiel disappeared after Dean passed out. Sam didn't remember there being so much love story in the _Die Hard_ movies, but watching John McClane talk about how much he loved his wife, and watching how John kept fucking things up in his relationship was not helping _anything_.

Sam got up and started looking around his room for something of yours that might still be in there. He just needed something he could hold in his hand to prove to his drunk self that the previous night had really happened. Sam thought of your hair clip and wondered if you'd even noticed that it was gone. Sam decided to check. He'd put it in your room this morning, hadn't he? If you hadn't moved it, he would take it back as an excuse to talk to you when you returned.

Sam stumbled through the bunker to your room. He knocked on your door and then laughed to himself, remembering that you weren't there, so no one would answer the knock. Sam opened the door and looked at your night stand. Your clothes from the night you went out were still on your bed. He didn't see your hair clip anywhere. Then Sam remembered, he'd never actually gotten into your room to drop it off. He had the clip in his pocket. He pulled it out and sat on your bed running his finger along the flat, beaded, silver figure 8 with a long sliver pick attached.

Sam felt a little dizzy from all the thinking and adventuring, so he laid back on your bed. Your mattress was so comfortable. It wasn't as big as his bed, but Sam fit if he curled up on his side. He'd wondered if he would fit in your bed. Sam snickered as that thought led to another way he wondered how he'd fit into your . . . life. Sam looked around your room noticing the few personal affects you'd chosen to feel at home. When his eyes got back to your night stand, Sam saw your iPod beside your bed and started listening. He just wanted to know what you were listening to last thinking it would make you seem closer. It was a bad decision. Sam didn't know if it was coincidence or just cruel chance, but when he pressed play, the iPod started playing _Animal_ and _Sleeping with a Friend_ by Neon Trees followed by _Need You Now_ from Lady Antebellum. Sam could smell you all around him and the alcohol and those stupid songs . . . He could see the sense in Dean's advice, but what if all you ever wanted was a foxhole friend? Tears slid quietly down his face as Sam tried in vain to hold onto happy thoughts like Dean said.

* * *

 

Dean woke up, and saw that Sam was gone. He started panicking, until he played a hunch and found Sam mostly done crying, mostly asleep in your bed. Dean shook his head and helped Sam up off your bed. "Come on, Sammy. You don't belong in here."

Sam looked up at Dean, face stricken and eyes teary. "I thought you said it would work out!"

Dean shook his head, rubbing one hand over his face while holding up Sam with the other. "Sorry. Poor choice of words. I just meant that you're drunk, and I don't think you passing out in _____'s room while she's away so she can find you here tomorrow will help things."

Sam nodded vigorously. "You're right. I need to talk to her first. Where's my phone? I can call her now. It's stupid to wait until tomorrow. I should call her now and tell her everything. I can fix it."

"No man. This is why I hid all the phones. She's probably asleep, like you should be. Come on. You need to sleep it off." Dean looked around your room, hoping Sam hadn't done anything that you'd notice and started walking Sam to his room, but Sam started to struggle.

"No." Sam clutched Dean's shirt desperately. "I don't want to sleep it off. I need happy thoughts Dean, like you said."

Dean sighed, resigned. "Fine. Then we'll watch some more movies, and you can drink a bunch of water so you can act normal when she comes home tomorrow."

Sam's voice was so soft and miserable, Dean almost didn't hear him. "Dean . . . what if she doesn't want anything to happen again?"

Dean looked at Sam's enormous puppy eyes. "Trust me dude, she'll come around. Just give her some time and those puppy eyes of yours, and she'll cave, just like I always do."

Sam hugged Dean. "Thanks Dean. You're a good brother."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Uh huh. Yes, I am. Let's watch some more movies while you drink some water."

"OK." Resigned, Sam starts becoming more help than hindrance as he and Dean move through the bunker.

Dean's thinking fast, trying to make his life easier as Sam is about to crash. "How about we finish watching in your room so you can just pass out there?"

"OK." Sam sounds so sad and submissive; it's heartbreaking.

Dean sits Sam on his bed and moves as fast as he dares given the amount of alcohol he's had to get the movies and some water. The nap helped, but Dean's still a little drunk. When he gets back to the room, Dean finds Sam cuddled into himself.

"Um, hey man," Dean starts awkwardly while putting  _Live Free or Die Hard_  in the DVD player. "You're not snuggling with anything you collected from _______'s room, right?"

Sam nodded. "No. Like you said, that won't help anything. Don't want a bigger mess."

"OK good. She'll be home tomorrow, and you can give her a hug then."

"She's a good hugger."

"Yeah, she is."

Sam fixed wide, concerned puppy eyes on Dean. "You don't mean that like I mean it, right?"

Dean smiled, sitting near Sam, drinking water and forcing himself to wake up. "No. Not like you, Sam. She's all yours."

"Good." Sam settles back onto his bed, eyes on his TV. He can still smell you on the sheets, his pillow.

 _Live Free or Die Hard_  started and Dean watched Sam unfold himself to watch. Dean promised himself he would not fall asleep until Sam was out cold. Neither one of them was gonna say it (Dean hopes), but if Dean leaves Sam alone, nothing good will come of it. At the least, Sam will lay there in bed, feeling how empty it is now that you're not there, which is ridiculous, because you've only spent one night in his bed and Sam was passed out for most of it, but it's true anyway.

"She loves these movies." Sam comments, his voice still wavering a little, but more steady than it was in your room.

"I know."

"I think secretly this is her favorite."

"Really? Why?"

"She likes that guy from the MAC commercials."

"Really? Huh. No wonder she's into you. You're both nerdy, super geeks."

"Maybe she's sapiosexual."

"An extraterrestrial?"

"No, sapiosexual. That means she finds brains hot."

"Huh. Could be. You have plenty of those. Hey, wait, are you calling me stupid?"

"No." Sam giggles. "Maybe."

"All right. That's it. I'm going to bed."

"No, wait, Dean. Stay. I was just kidding. Let's watch the movie."

"Fine." Dean sighs, acting much put upon.

"Justin Long!"

"What?"

"That's the guy from the MAC commercial. That's his name. I just remembered. Hehe . . . Long." Sam mutters, snickering. "Bet he's not as long as-"

"Internal thoughts, Sam! Things I don't need to hear!"

"Sorry Dean."

"But if it makes you feel better, Sasquatch, I'm sure you're right."

Sam smiled for awhile after that, but Dean was grateful Sam kept his thoughts to himself. Dean started to wonder how long it would take for Sam's thoughts to go melancholy again. He seemed to be weaving back and forth across the line between whiskey bliss and whiskey blues like a drunk driver one the way home. He didn't have to wait long.

Sam didn't look up, but Dean could feel something about Sam shift in the bed. "I miss her laugh, Dean. I just miss her."

Dean wants to tell his brother you've been gone less than a day and to get a grip, but he doesn't. He knows alcohol tends to mess with emotions in two stages. At first, it dulls the feelings, making problems seem smaller and then it makes feelings bigger, especially painful feelings. Sam has taken up residence in stage two, again. "I know, buddy. It'll work out."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

“What makes you so sure?”

”Cause I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right.”

“No it doesn't.”

“It totally does.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“I hope you’re right, Dean.”

Dean thinks about the way Sam gave up Amelia for him and the way he gave up Lisa and Ben for Sam. Dean knows they made the choices they did as much to protect the people they love as for the people they save when they’re on the job together and a commitment to what hunting means to them as brothers, as family, as legacies. But all that said, Dean really hopes Sam might be able to make something work out in the middle, to be able to find someone to love without having to give up anything. After everything and everyone they’ve sacrificed and lost from the world and themselves, they deserve something good without conditions or deals. They deserve some happiness that they can keep.

“Me too, Sammy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is appreciated. I'd really like to know if this plot is making sense because it's been like herding cats trying to work it through. Also, if the boys sound like themselves, because this is my first mjor round writing them for any length of time.
> 
> I apologize again about my inconsistent use of tenses-I welcome someone willing to beta that. I'm balancing this story with like six other writing projects and my brain was not up to making that aspect perfect.
> 
> Carry on my wayward readers. Sorry about any hearts that may have been ripped out. I swear I'll take good care of them until they're ready to go home. Some of what happens next may be influenced by feedback.


	8. Luck of the Irish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is back in the bunker for the aftermath while you and Sam try to follow the advice of your friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: OK, this definitely is a little heavy on Puppy Sam vs Current Season Sam, and I’ll admit, Castiel might be a slight parody of himself, but I love the result anyway. I hope you do too. 
> 
> Acknowledgements: Thank you to spectaculacular-sammy for being awesome and helping me with an abundance of Sam-spiration. Also, thanks to bovaria, one of her fics gave me a little inspiration for the one scene. And there is a tip of the hat to Greek ladies in here. Some sort of prize if you figure out what it is.

 ♪ _Skip the Charades_ by Cold War Kids; _Charlie Boy_ and _Ho Hey_ by The Lumineers; _Somewhere with you_ by Tyler Ward♪

“The things one most tries to hide are often the things most easily seen." (Sleepy Hollow, Episode 3: For the Triumph of Evil, Ichabod Crane)

The next morning, you and Kevin get up, sip several liters of water and eat some chicken fried rice while watching cartoons and head back to the bunker. By coincidence, everyone in the bunker is pretty hung-over by now, so it's another day before any of you really are up and about.

Dean was the first one up the third morning after Saint Patrick's Day. He set about making breakfast for the bunker, feeling guilty for letting Sam wander into the privacy of your room and hoping that you didn't noticed anything amiss. Sam joined him not long after. "Any sign of life from the others?"

Sam nodded. "I think Kevin and _______ are starting to stir."

"Good. I'm making coffee. From what little I glimpsed of them while we were all scavenging like hung-over mole people yesterday, I'm guessing they had a late night at Charlie's. Maybe you could take _____ breakfast in bed." Dean gave Sam a pointed look, "You know, and move things along."

Sam nods, brightening. "Yeah. That's a great idea." His mind raced. He could put the hair clip you'd ‘forgotten’ on it, and you two could sit in your room and talk . . . see where things went.

* * *

 

Upstairs, Kevin wakes before you and texts you: You up?

You text him back: I'm up. Can I come over?

Kevin sends you a smiley face, and you amble next door, closing it behind you. "Hey Kev. Feeling better?" You kept your voice a whisper. You and Kevin were _not_ morning people. So, by mutual agreement, neither of you spoke in normal voices until after caffeine unless offering sustenance or announcing an emergency.

"Yeah. I texted Talia. She and I are getting dinner tomorrow night. How are you?"

"Goodish. I mean, not hung-over anymore, so that's a plus. Trippy dreams though. It's the weirdest thing. I swear my room smells like Sam, especially my bed. I must been really hung up on him, huh?"

Kevin grins at you, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Yup. You're a goner over him all right. Did you see Sam at all yesterday?"

"No, I think Sam's still avoiding me because he feels guilty about things going so far so fast." You try and fail to suppress a wistful sigh. It’s agony to think of Sam avoiding you for any reason, much less say the words aloud.

"I guess we better get Charlie's plan in motion then, huh?" Kevin’s tone had enough encouragement and hope to get you to force a smile.

You nod. "I'll go get dressed, and then we can head down for food?"

Kevin pats your shoulder, comfortingly. "It'll be fine. Ask Sam what we missed. Tell him about Charlie."

" _You_ better tell Sam about Charlie. I'm not sure I can lie well enough if Sam fixes me with guilty puppy eyes."

Kevin's face clouded with sleepy confusion. "Why would he do that?"

" _I_ don't know!" You hissed. " _You're_ the one who said Sam looked guilty the day we left."

"Oh right. OK. I'll handle the Charlie story." Kevin promised, and you headed out the door and back to your room to change. "Just remember: baby steps."

“Baby steps. Right.” Your thoughts trip and fall in the gutter almost immediately. “Please may that involve more breast feeding,” You snicker, your thoughts flashing to vivid memories of Sam’s talented mouth.

Kevin just shakes his head. “And that’s the sort of thinking that leads to cum stains on your shirt.”

“It was whipped cream!” You hiss indignantly.

“Uh huh. Either way, I’m right.” Kevin snorts.

You tilt your head, considering. “Fair point. You win.”

“For your sake, I hope you’re right too.”

"Thanks, Kevin Solo."

 

Back into your room, you start to take off your sleep clothes when you catch a whiff of Sam’s scent again. You start stalking purposefully around the room, trying to figure out why you keep thinking you can smell Sam in your room. It's not like he spent that much time hanging out in your room. The smell wasn't as strong now that you were out of bed. Maybe it was your sheets. Maybe some of his deodorant had rubbed off on your things in the wash or something or maybe the new detergent you bought smelled like his cologne. You'd bought shampoo once that definitely smelled like whatever Sam used, and it had been confusing as hell for weeks not to mention all Dean's merciless teasing about you showering with Sam . . .

You sniffed your pillow. Yup, it had to be the laundry soap. Your pillow smelled so much like Sam . . . You glanced around the room. You were alone. Kevin was still getting dressed. You had a few minutes to indulge before Kevin knocked for you to get a move on, maybe a few more since Kevin knew you were feeling nervous about facing Sam again.

You took another deep breath into the pillow and sighed. You could almost imagine Sam there, holding you right up against his flannel-wrapped chest, so close, just surrounding you with his body, his scent, his warmth. Hugging you and letting you know everything was OK between you.

It ripped a frustrated growl out of your chest that things were so complicated now when about forty eight hours things had seemed so simple: take two parts sexual tension and attraction, add whiskey, and stir.

* * *

Sam had a tray with coffee for two and a few of your favorite breakfast essentials in hand along with some food for himself. He was just about to knock on your door when he heard something that sounded like a muffled sound of anger. Thinking you were in trouble, Sam dropped the tray just inside the door and burst into the room, gun drawn from the back of his jeans. Instead of you being attacked, Sam saw you, standing in front of your bed, in your panties and a tank top that's not hiding much and clutching a pillow to your chest with a horrified, guilty look on your face.

You didn't stay frozen for long. As soon as your mind registered the crash in the hallway followed by the appearance of an 'intruder' fully, you used the pillow to cushion you as rolled across your bed, ducking behind it for cover while you reached for your katana and your berretta. Your sword was in the air over your head with one hand, your berretta extended in you other hand and trained on the figure in the doorway, about the time you realized your 'intruder' was Sam. Though honestly, given that you weren't sure what he'd seen, you weren't sure that was better. Still, no time like the present to mend fences. "Sam?"

Sam tucked his gun away and raised his hands partially in casual surrender. "Yeah. Sorry. I thought . . .You sounded like you were in trouble."

Good, he might have missed the pillow snuggling. "Sorry. I was just . . . expressing myself. I'm fine." You straightened up, looking at Sam in his jeans and blue plaid flannel shirt. His puppy eyes were enormous. You managed a smile, well-armed, but barely dressed. "Thanks for trying to save me."

Sam smiled back, relieved. This was easier than expected. "Looks like if you're ever attacked in your room your reflexes are pretty solid." He indicated your weapons with his head.

You look down at your weapons. "Right. Well I don't need these anymore." You stowed your sword and gun and stood back up, noticing that you were still standing there in almost nothing.

Kevin ran in, still hiking up his pants with one hand, while he gripped a baseball bat in his other hand. "You ok?"

You grinned. "Yeah, Sam just startled me. We're all fine. But I might want to consider clothing."

Kevin laughed. "Naw, it's a good look."

"Yeah, you look fine to me." Sam grinned, trying to be flirtatious without over-playing it.

"Thanks, but I feel like I'm one bad 80s song away from a porno right now, which is really more than I'm up for without coffee."

Sam glanced behind him to the tray. He picked up the one mug that still had some coffee and handed it to you. "Well, we can't have you engaging in an orgy without coffee."

You took the cup snickering. "Sam, you're so thoughtful, making sure I have the necessary caffeination to satisfy the sexual needs of both my rescuers. Still, if Dean and Cas show, I'm going to need a second cup."

Kevin and Sam both laughed at that, though you thought that Sam seemed to stiffen at the suggestion of Dean and Cas showing up. Hmm, smelled like jealousy. That was promising if you were right. No. No point getting your hopes up. Just focus on the plan. Baby steps.

"If you need that second cup, someone will have to make more. That's the only one that survived." Sam gestured towards the tray.

You shift sideways, to look on the other side of your bed, where the crash had come from. "Sam, what do you have over there?"

Sam looked down at the tray, frowning. The plates and mugs were enamelware, so they weren't broken, but the juice glasses were and the food was either on the tray, on the floor, or swimming in juice or spilled coffee from the other mug. "Um, I have breakfast or I _had_ breakfast. You weren't feeling well yesterday, so I thought maybe breakfast in bed might be more your speed, but that coffee in your hand is the only survivor. Sorry."

It does not escape your notice that a lot of your favorite foods are there in the debris. Your mind whispered that is was just a peace offering because Sam felt badly about ‘all the nothing,’ but you melted anyway. Yup, Sam was going to make ‘taking things slow’ nearly impossible. "Wow. Thank you. I owe you a hug once the coffee is safely inside me."

He half smiles. "You're welcome. We sort of missed having breakfast the other day, so I thought now might be a better time, but apparently not."  Sam looked at the tray with a quietly sad expression. "I don't think we can eat any of this. There's more food in the kitchen though. Why don't you and Kevin head down, and I'll clean this up and join you?"

You can't resist Sam's disappointed expression. It's just tragic somehow that he would feel so bummed out after trying to do something nice for you. "No. Kevin, you head down and make sure Dean saves us some food. I'll help Sam clean this up."

Kevin winked back at you. "Sure thing. Try not to start the orgy without me."

"I'm pretty sure that without you here, it's just two people having sex, Kev. Not an _orgy_!" You snarked after him.

Sam watched you while you shook your head chuckling.

Now, it was just you and Sam.

You catch Sam staring at you as you bend over the tray and realize that you're still not dressed. "Why don't you go get a towel and a dustpan, and I will _finally_ put on my clothes." You laugh and debate whether to wait until Sam leaves or not, but figure that acting shy will only make things more weird, so you grab a pair of nearby yoga pants and a bra and start pulling them on.

Sam laughs awkwardly. "Sorry. Got caught in a stare I guess." How did you manage to show so much and so little while changing right in front of him was like a cruel magic trick.

You grin,  putting on your bra, pulling your top off, and then pulling on the closest shirt within reach, barely showing more than flashes of back and belly. Everything goes with yoga pants, right? "It's fine Sam. Sometimes, even I get caught up checking them out myself. Nothing you haven't seen before, right?"

"Ah, yeah, right." Sam shakes his head to clear it and walks off towards the linen closet.

While Sam is gone, you try to hide your panic as you realize that Sam is going to ask you about your visit to Charlie and Kevin will not be there to help you. Hopefully, if you stuck as close to the facts as possible, your story will be close enough to whatever Kevin is telling Dean.

* * *

Kevin found Dean in the midst of chopping potatoes in the kitchen.

“Hey Dean. How are you doing?”

“Fine? How about you?”

“Fine.”

They both eyed each other up, hyper-aware of what they were _not_ asking.

Kevin ran his hand over his face. “Hey Dean, how about we agree to _not_ discuss whatever the hell is going on with everyone else in the bunker this morning? I think I’m tapped out.”

Dean smiled, putting a hand on Kevin’s shoulder and a cup of hot water for tea in front of Kevin. “Kevin, I think that is a fine idea. How about you tell me about that fine-looking female you left the bar with the other night?”

Kevin went to the cabinet and pulled out a tin of oolong tea you brought him from your last hunt and started making a small pot for himself, smirking. “Dean, you have _no_ idea.”

Dean shook his head, frying the potatoes up with onions and peppers. “People keep saying that to me lately. It makes me think that every one’s forgotten my status and resident ladies’ man in the bunker.”

Kevin, stared into that tin of tea like his life depended on it. And really, his life might depend on him not snickering over the fact that Dean hadn’t really been an active ladies’ man for awhile. Once his expression was composed, Kevin grinned at Dean. “Fair enough. _I_ had no idea.”

“Now that’s more like it.” Dean grinned and started fixing Kevin a plate. “Carry on.”

* * *

Sam returns and you both kneel on the floor to clean up the tray.

You start making conversation, deciding that facing the inevitable topic of conversation head-on would at least mean you had some control over it. "This was really nice of you Sam, making me breakfast and all. Sorry, I had to skip out the other morning."

"Yeah, how is Charlie doing?"

"Our geek night seemed to do the trick. Poor Charlie. I guess we all have those breakups that shake us a little more than others." That's when you see Sam staring at your chest. You're about to make some smart-ass comment, when Sam breaks into your thoughts with a weird expression on his face.

"Um, is that your shirt from the other night?"

You close your eyes, mortified. You could have grabbed dozen other shirts, shirts that were clean or at least clean enough. Seriously, where is the Goblin King to kidnap you right about now? You open your eyes and looked down. Sure enough, out of all the shirts in your room, you managed to grab the one that had the whipped cream residue from the other night that looked like cum. You look back up at Sam and see that his expression is caught between male smugness and amusement. You try to keep your tone as nonchalant as possible. "Why yes, yes it is."

Sam, poked his tongue into his cheek like he's trying to choke back the laughter. "Um, there seems to be _something on it_."

You roll your eyes, groaning. Your face is on fire with embarrassment. It was Kevin’s fault. He brought up the shirt, tempting fate and now, here it was to mock you. "It's whipped cream! I swear, that's all it is. I checked the other day before I left for Charlie's when Kevin asked about it."

Sam snorted with laughter. " _Kevin_ saw it?"

You're hiding behind your hands, groaning in mortification. "Yes, I was asking him about his night, and I hadn't changed yet and he wanted to know what was on my shirt."

Sam is shaking by now with the force of keeping his laughter in check. "How, exactly, did you check?"

Sam was laughing a little too hard for your comfort, which brought your head up, a glint of mischief in your eyes. "Like this." You wet your finger with your tongue, touched it to your shirt, and then moved your finger towards his mouth. "Here. Taste it if you don't believe me."

Sam stared at your finger and then at you, clearly trying to decide what to do. A part of you hoped he'd skip the finger and lick your shirt, but while drunken Sam might have done just that, sober Sam wasn't quite so bold. He did impress you though, by actually licking your finger instead of making some comment about not wanting to taste himself. And man, Sam's tongue felt amazing . . . So amazing that you almost didn't hear him when he spoke.

"Either you're right, or I have a much more vanilla-y flavor than I realized."

You shake your head laughing nervously. "And on _that_ note, I guess I should follow breakfast up with some laundry and maybe a shower."

"A cold shower?" Sam grinned, dropping his voice.

You started to laugh, but then something about it struck you as something other than funny. Something in his tone was so similar to the way he'd been at the bar the other night. And his tongue: warm and wet and so perfect against your oh-so sensitive fingertip. You had a sudden vision of Sam kissing you, pressing you into the floor, laying himself long and hard between your legs, tearing that snap-down flannel shirt off his body . . . then your daydream cleared and Sam was just watching you. Was Sam making another pass at you? What happened to things moving too fast? You decided that it was just more wishful thinking and shook it off. Your laugh was a bit too late to be normal, but there was no help for it. "Yeah, maybe." You shifted your position on the bed to move back from Sam a little and started looking for another top. "So, let me just throw on a different shirt, and we can get breakfast, OK?"

Sam saw you pull away from him and tried not to let it sting as he finished cleaning up your floor, the other remains of the breakfast already on the tray. "Sure."

You toss on another top and turn back to Sam. "Whew. Good thing you caught that. Can you imagine if Dean saw it? . . . We'd never hear the end of it." You’re trying to keep things light, make it clear that you’re fine with not rushing things and keeping the pressure off by keeping things between the two of you.

Sam forced a laugh. Really, would it have been so bad if Dean made an _accurate_ assumption about what you two did that night? No, that was not the way to go. Dean said to keep it light. "Probably. So, I've been wondering. What is a geek night? Is that like co-ed girls' night?"

You laugh. "Sort of. We didn't braid each other's hair, but we watched 80s fantasy movies like _Willow_ and _Labyrinth_."

"Ah, the Classics." Sam nodded his head in appropriate deference.

"Exactly. And we had ice cream swimming in rum."

"Is that all pretty typical?" He tucked his hair behind his ear with one hand, carrying the tray with the other. It was so cute. Sam had no idea how adorable he was when he did that. It was this almost shy gesture and that much more endearing given his size.

"Sometimes, we play games like _D &D_ or _Settlers of Catan_ or _Munchkin-_ "

"Wait a minute, what is _Munchkin_?" Sam was smiling a real smile again, and you felt like things were getting back to normal whatever that meant now.

Your face lights up with the grin of corrupting a _Munchkin_ virgin. " _Munchkin_ is an awesome and hilarious card game that basically makes fun of _D &D_, cheesey fantasy games, and geeky gamer culture while you try to win all the loot and kill everyone else."

"Sounds like fun."

"It is. We should play later."

"Definitely. So what other hijinx did you get up to?"

"We actually never got to games. Mostly, we just watched movies, ate, and talked."

"Ah, lots of gossip, huh?" Sam gently nudges you in the ribs.

"Yeah." Your voice dropped off. This conversation got into dangerous territory in a hurry. "So . . . what did you boys get up to while we were out? Anything fun?"

Sam shrugged. "We practiced on the firing range and watched some action movies."

"Any of my favorites?"

Sam grinned tauntingly, knowing you'd be sorry you'd missed the next part. "We ma-ay have had a _Die Hard_ marathon."

"Without _me_?!" You reply in mock outrage.

Sam grins. "Hey, _you_ bailed. Charlie could have come _here_." And watched me self-destruct, Sam thinks.

You force a laugh while thinking: You could have watched me cry into my ice cream while John McClane talks about how much he loves his wife and how he keeps screwing up. What an awkward night we all missed. Hurray. "Yeah, Charlie said something about visiting soon to help out with the library database, but I think she needed swords and sorcery more than Bruce Willis."

"Fair enough. We all have our own cinematic comfort preferences." Sam nodded. "You have a favorite movie from the swords and sorcery genre?"

"It's hard to pick one, but I was really digging _Willow_ last night." You mentally run through the list of all your favorite movies in that genre. "I kinda love _Krull_. It's really cheesy and sort of weird, but I can't help it."

"What on earth is _Krull_?"

"Scifi fantasy, epic adventure where a prince goes on a quest tries to save his betrothed and unites a mismatched band of fighters and thieves to save their world from aliens with an ancient weapon. I think the score is what really does me in, though. Seriously, the love theme gets me every time. When I was about nine, it was a close tie between that and _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ , but back then I thought I was going to marry a Ninja Turtle." What made you say that?! Too much information!!! What was it about Sam that just made you spill your guts?! You try to breeze past it, hoping Sam doesn't pick up on it. It's too mortifying. "It's a classic, right up there with Willow. I love those brownies."

Sam stopped, lowering his voice, holding in laughter. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I swoon over cheesy 80 sword and sorcery movies?"

"Yeah, no. _I_ do that too. The part where you wanted to marry a Ninja Turtle."

"Sam . . ." You whine. "I can't believe I said that. Just please don't tell Dean . . ."

"Oh, I don't know . . ." Sam teases, starting to walk towards the kitchen. "We're almost at the kitchen. He might have already overheard _everything_."

You press your hands to Sam's chest, trying to keep him from moving forward. It’s pointless. He’s twice as strong as you are, and you both know it. That said, Sam wasn’t trying to push past you very hard. If anything he was mostly just pressing into your hands. His chest felt amazing under your hands . . . so much delicious, warm, hard flesh . . . melting your brain . . . losing focus . . . must put a stop to it immediately or all willpower will be lost and with it any chance of following Charlie and Kevin's advice. "If you shut up about it right now, I owe you a future favor." You watched him stop and consider your offer and nearly lose your footing at the sudden loss of counter pressure. Sam steadies you physically before answering you, but it only further throws you off balance internally.

"And I get to question you about this later when we're away from the bunker." He held out his hand.

"Fine." You shake his offered hand. "This doesn't cancel the debt you owe me from the other night though."

Sam groans in mock agony. "I thought you might have been too drunk to remember that."

"Nonsense." You smirk heading into the kitchen. "There's nothing wrong with my memory and I always clear my debts."

"Oh really?" Sam cocks an eyebrow, feeling like things are progressing.

" _Both_ ways." You, shoot him a sly smirk so he understands that you will not only be paying your own, but also calling in his debt.

Sam clears his throat hard, narrowly avoiding running into a corner while turning through the hallways. "So have any fun plans for today?"

You remembered Charlie's suggestion about socializing more with Sam. "Well, unless we have a case, I was thinking about maybe having a game night later."

Sam remembered Dean's warnings about getting friend-zoned, but if it was an evening activity, that was certainly at least in the ballpark of a date. "Yeah, that sounds like fun. We could play _Munchkin_."

"Great. Let's see if the others are free. It plays better with about four or five people."

"Um, sure." Not quite what he was angling for, but what the hell. It was a start.

Dean had western omelets waiting for all of you with home fries and toast . . . and more, blessed coffee.

You moan loudly at the sight of the food, fanning yourself dramatically and putting on a southern accent. “Oh Dean, you make a woman’s knees _weak_ with that cooking. I must sit down.” You pretend to be on the verge of fainting, and Sam, grinning, pulls out a chair for you that you sink into gratefully. “Thank you, Sam. After so long without real food, my delicate nature is woefully unprepared.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Easy there, Scarlett O’Hara. It was, maybe 48 hours since you had a meal that was not junk food. And healthy or otherwise Chinese food is totally real.”

Dean set a plate in front of you. “Damn straight. And if you’re a delicate damsel, I’ll eat my shoes. Delicate females don't eat a full meal after vivisecting a hydra.”

You shrug off the distressed southern belle affectation and dig in, replying with your mouth full. “Fair point.”

Kevin stands and dramatically presents you with an oversized mug of coffee. “And the award for least ladylike behavior goes to . . .”

“Hey! I can be ladylike if I want to! I'm just really hungry.”

“Says the girl talking with food in her mouth.” Kevin snarks.

“Just give me the damn coffee. And anyway, being ladylike has nothing to do with being delicate. Just ask Rarity.”

Sam and Dean look at you, thoroughly confused, but Kevin clinks his mug with yours. “Touché.”

“Rarity?” Sam asks.

You point your face into your coffee mug, blushing again. “Cartoon character; don’t worry about it.”

“Another one?” Sam winks at you, and you elbow him lightly.

“Bite me.”

“Where?” Sam’s cocksure grin is out again, and it just makes your head swim.

Your panties would never make it through the day. Thank goodness you were planning to do laundry.

You and Sam are gauging each other, both a little confused at how easily you’re flirting considering everything, but neither of you is quite prepared to press your luck, yet. Dean and Kevin shook their heads and focused on their food, hoping that the previous days’ drama was about to just fall away naturally.

You blush a little and turn back to your food, your rumbling stomach, breaking the tension. “I’ll have to get back to you on that, 'living legend needs eggs'.”

“Wow, _My Little Ponies_ to _Firefly_ in five minutes, you really are recovering well,” Kevin teased.

You shrugged. “Hey, when I am in dire need of breakfast and coffee, my spirit animal is _always_ Jayne Cobb. I can be Rarity after breakfast when I get to putting my room in order. Speaking of which, Dean, steer clear of my hallway. I’m cleaning, and I think P!nk will be the order of the day.”

“Seriously?” Dean groans.

“I do it just to make your ears bleed.”

Dean shakes his head and grins. “I have no doubt.”

“You can’t give her too much shit, Dean." Kevin pointed out. "She drives a 1970 Barracuda, and her cassette collection has a healthy selection of Foreigner, Survivor, Journey, AC/DC, Led Zepplin . . .”

“Fair enough.” Dean conceded. “Just don’t blast it so loudly that I have to hear it in the library, OK?”

“When have I ever done that?” Dean started to open his mouth, but you cut him off. “When we weren’t fighting about something?”

“Never.”

“There you go.” You all ate in silence for a few minutes.

Sam turned to you, handing you a slice of buttered toast. “How do you decide what to listen to?”

“Oh you know . . . whatever will piss Dean off the most.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I _knew_ it.”

You and Dean share a cheeky grin and then you turn back to Sam. “I’m a mood listener. My music directly reflects the mood I have or want to have. When I’m driving on the open road, I want classic rock. When I’m cleaning, I want girl power music, hence P!nk. Although, sometimes I want Twisted Sister for that or Etta James.”

Sam desperately wanted to ask what would have you listening to Neon Trees or Lady Antebellum, but that would let you know he’d been in your room without permission, so he held his peace. "Etta James?"

"Music of the 1940s makes me feel all Harriet Nelson and domestic." You munch on your toast, using it to scoop the last of your eggs into your mouth. “I’ll see what I was listening to last too. I mean, if I just downloaded something cool, I might start with that.”

Sam focused very hard on chewing for a few minutes and then started clearing plates to hide his guilty expression.

“What about you Sam? What do you listen to aside from classic rock?”

Sam laughs nervously, glancing back at Dean, who's talking to Kevin about the tablets. “I’ll tell you sometimes when Dean’s not around.”

“Fair enough. What are you up to today?”

“Cleaning some and probably tidying in the library.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You swallow the rest of your coffee mug and refill it for later. “Well, I’m gonna get laundry started.” You level a finger and sharp glare around the room. “ _No one,_ " you level a pointed gaze at Dean, "touches my clothes.” There had been an incident involving some of your delicates not getting a proper dry one too many times because Dean had to wash the blood out of something, and it was just so annoying.

“I know! I’m sorry. Yeesh.” Dean grumbled. "I get blood on a few things of yours . . ."

"You ruined an entire load of delicates!"

"And I replaced them!"

You kissed his cheek. “True. I’m sorry. If you let me get all my laundry done without interruption, there could be pie in it for you.”

“Homemade?”

“Maybe.”

“The laundry room is yours.” Dean turned a threatening gaze on Sam and Kevin who rolled their eyes together.

“Thank you, Dean-o.” You grinned and headed off to work, smiling and waving back at Sam as you headed off and feeling like an idiot afterwards. How old were you again? Five?

* * *

After you headed off to do laundry, Sam finished cleaning up the kitchen, trying not to be jealous of Dean getting a kiss on the cheek and a nickname and letting himself daydream.

Sam thought about you in the hallway, the way you had looked so horrified when you spilled your childhood geek crush to him . . . the way your hands felt pressing against him . . . He’d thought about kissing you when you made that offer. He'd thought about offering to keep your secret for a kiss . . .

“Maybe I don’t want a future favor. Maybe I want my favor right now.” Sam can see himself, maneuvering you against the wall.

“What do you want?” Sam can imagine your eyes going wide and wanton while his eyes flick down to your lips.

“This.” He cups your face with his hands and swoops in. Sam’s lips are hungry and demanding against yours, and he can feel your tongue sliding out to taste him. Sam can feel your hands move into his hair to pull him closer, and he reaches down to cup your ass through your yoga pants and wrap your legs against his waist. He knows you can feel him harden under his jeans and one of your hands snakes down to grab at the back of his shirt to pull him closer. Sam knows what you want, what you need. He reaches down, sliding a hand under your pants, under your panties, clearing a path right between your folds to press the hardening ridge of his jeans right where you most want friction. As fast as his hand went into your pants, he pulls it away, wrapping one hand back around you, threading in your hair while the other clenches at your ass while Sam thrusts and rubs against you while you both make increasingly frantic sounds. His tongue is thrusting shallowly in and out of your mouth, and it doesn’t take much imagination on either of your parts to know you both wish you were wearing a lot less clothes.

~

Dean drops his plate into the sink between Sam’s hands, bringing Sam’s fantasy to an abrupt halt. Sam shoots Dean a bitchface while Dean backs away, arms up in surrender. “Easy there, loverboy.”

Sam goes back to washing, redirecting his thoughts so he can leave the kitchen without embarrassing himself. His thoughts retrace back to reality. There hadn't been any kissing with reckless abandon-though it would have been interesting to get caught grinding you into the bunker wall. Dean would have teased you both far more for that than your whipped-cream-soiled shirt. And a future favor could still become a kiss, Sam reminded himself, but not ten minutes before, you’d physically pulled away from him at yet _another_ opportune moment. So he let you make your deal your way for now. Sam couldn't deny he was curious about what your future favor from him would be . . .

* * *

Back in your room, you fell back onto your bed dramatically, thinking: 'Hell with what everyone else said, I should have kissed him. When Sam made the joke about a cold shower, I should have kissed him.'

After allowing yourself a few minutes of fantasizing about Sam, you pushing yourself up and got to work. Laundry first, starting with the shirt-of-shame. While you start the first load, your eyes caught on the vibration of the washer and you couldn’t help but think how much fun it would be to fuck Sam while pressed against it . . . to have him pounding into you so hard that the others would think the washer load was unbalanced or something. You left your basket on the washer and chuckled at the idea of getting caught doing Sam in the laundry room.

Back in your room, you found your iPod buried in your bed while you were cleaning. You didn't remember putting it there, but apparently the last time you'd been listening to it, you'd been moping about Sam, because that was the playlist you used to moon over him and it started on, "Need You Now." None of that today. You put in a more upbeat mix and went to work.

A few hours later, you surveyed the progress: sexual frustration sure was productive fuel when combined with the right tunes. Kevin came in just as you were finishing putting away the last of your clothes. You still had your headphones in and Kevin took a video with his phone of you, dancing while putting socks away. When you caught him, you stuck out your tongue and pulled out your ear buds.

Kevin's fingers flew across his keypad. “Oh that is so going to Charlie.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I delight in my own company and look like a goof.”

Kevin looked at you, his expression puzzled. “Why did you bother telling Dean you were going to be girl powering it out if you’re listening with your ear buds?”

You shrugged. “Dean is Sam’s brother and my friend. I didn’t want Dean coming down here to bug me about the other night on either of our behaves. Behalfs? Neither of those sounds right. You’re the linguist, which is it?”

“I have no idea after the day I’ve had sorting my notes on the tablets, but your logic is sound. So you actually making that pie for Dean?”

“Yeah, if I don't, he'll pout. But nothing fancy. I’ll make a blueberry pie and pizza. I think it’s my turn on KP.”

“Awesome! My favorites!”

“Well you _have_ been an awesome friend these last couple days, so I owed you.”

“ _Please_ , you helped hook me up at the bar.”

“That was just for fun . . . and pride. Dean questioned my skills.”

"True. I guess you showed him. You hooked up three people with naughtiness that night in about an hour." Kevin grinned.

"Three?" You puzzled it out. "Oooh ri-ight, Castiel got to spank Dean. I did do good work that night."

“You did. So what about _tonight_?” Kevin asked pointedly.

“See if the guys are still up for game night. We can teach them _Munchkin_.”

Kevin shook his head. “This plan is either fantastic or terrible. I feel like I should make popcorn.”

“Ooh, with butter.”

“Oh yeah, nothing goes better with bunker drama than buttered popcorn.” Kevin groaned.

* * *

 

Game night went well overall. After a tight game of _Star Wars Trivial Pursuit_ that nearly ended in a draw, you and Kevin divided yourselves amongst the Winchester brothers evenly to help teach them how to play _Munchkin_. You offered to help Sam so you both sat on one side of the bunker table, with Dean and Kevin on the other side.

You weren't ignoring Charlie's advice. You _had_ to sit right next to Sam to help him organize and utilize his cards until he got the hang of the game. You suspected that Sam caught on to the game sooner than he said he did, but hey, you didn't mind, curling next to him, feeling his warmth radiating from his flannel, smelling him, fingers brushing yours as you helped him arrange his cards  . . . Yeah, when had playing _Munchkin_ gotten so _hot_?

Sam kept whispering questions and jokes in your ear while you laughed and whispered back. Dean and Kevin were working well together, but in spite of the distraction that was close proximity to Sam, you and Sam were winning. It helped that Sam gave you some good advice and stopped you from a few stupid moves when you were particularly caught up in him. Although, after he did it for about the tenth time, Kevin and Dean said you needed to stop helping Sam because he was clearly fine on his own. Dean had been playing on his own for about an hour by then and was holding his own even if he wasn't winning much.

In spite of the game shifting from you and Kevin helping Sam and Dean to the four of you playing entirely separately, you and Sam both seemed to be making a point to let your bodies brush at every opportunity. You were feeling increasingly torn. Part of you was happy that taking Charlie's advice was going so well, but part of you wanted to pounce on Sam. But a third part of you can't forget your dream about Sam rejecting you and boy, do you _not_ want to just be some casual convenience either, not with _Sam_. So you flirt lightly. You enjoy his company. You pretend things are exactly as you want them to be and hope you don't have to keep this up for very long.

Meanwhile, Sam is trying to figure out how to up the stakes and show you that he doesn't want to just be one of your best guy buddies. At the end of game night, Sam offers to help you carry the games to your room. Inside your room, Sam looks around, "Wow. Looks great in here, not that it was a wreck before, just noticing that you worked hard. Sorry, this is coming out all wrong."

You smile. "It's fine. Thank you. And thanks for trying to bring me breakfast, Sam."

"Ah, you're welcome.”

"So anyway, barring disaster, I'll see you in the morning."

Sam nods, taking the hint and heading towards the door, a little concerned that you seem to be keeping him at such a distance. "Hey, so Kevin has his big date tomorrow night. You want to go shoot some pool?"

You consider. "Sure, but it's been awhile, so just you and me right? I'm pretty rusty. I don't want Dean to see me scratching all over the place. He'll never let me live it down, and you have to promise not to tease me too badly."

"I remember you saying you wanted to sharpen your pool skills, so I promise, just us, no teasing."

You smile. "OK. I'm in." Sam's still leaning on your doorway and after everything, you really, really want to touch him. What the hell, you think and give a very-surprised-Sam a hug. “Thanks Sam. This was great, exactly what I needed."

Sam looks puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Whoops. Hadn't meant to say all that. "I just mean it's been great getting to really relax and cut loose the last few days after all the weeks of non-stop monster hunting. And spending more time with you, getting to hang out more has been a great part of that, so thanks." You pull back from the hug, looking up at him.

Sam looks a little disappointed for a minute, but then it's gone and you're sure you imagined it. "Sure. Anytime."

You head to sleep, replaying the evening over and over and glowing. You’d followed Charlie’s advice, you’d spent quality time with Sam, shown him how much you valued his friendship, kept things slow. Things were right on track.

* * *

Sam runs over the evening in his head while he helps Dean clean up in the library.

“So how did things go ‘helping her take things to her room’?” Dean waggles his eyebrows, hopefully.

Sam shook his head, uncertain. "Dean, she's acting distant. I'm not sure about this plan."

“I don’t get it. You two certainly didn’t seem distant when she were practically in your lap ‘helping’ you learn how to play that last game. Are you seeing something I’m not?”

“It’s little things.” Sam's voice trails off vaguely.

"You're taking her out to play pool tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah."

"Great, treat it like a third date. Have fun, make it clear that you want her, let the booze flow as needed."

Sam nods, feeling less sure about things, but he hadn’t imagined that tension between you. He just had to figure out a way to get you past whatever was making you hold him at arm’s length.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, chapter 9 is still in the early stages, but it's in the works. I'll post updates to my tumblr blog (http://ladyataralasse.tumblr.com/) as I go, mostly as responses to fanmail. Thank you readers!!!!! Your encouragement is outstanding!!!!


	9. Dilly Dally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next day at the bunker. . . you and Sam are enjoying a normal day in the bunker before heading out for the evening to shoot some pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took forever and sorry this is short, but chapter 10 is not at all. This chapter was really hard for some reason and then it seemed like two chapters … and then I wasn’t sure whether or not to split it up … HUGE thanks to Spectaculacular-Sammy for helping me work it through. Her writing is awesome and you should definitely check it out: http://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy

♪ _Slide_ by Goo Goo Dolls; _Charlie Boy_  and  _Ho Hey_  by The Lumineers;  _Somewhere with you_  by Tyler Ward♪

It took a long time for you to fall asleep that night. You lay there in bed, thinking about Sam, replaying the entire evening, every touch, every look . . . your skin felt like it was thrumming with electricity. Eventually, you read yourself to sleep with paranormal romance novels, but sleep took many chapters to come. So when someone knocked on your door and came in to talk to you the next morning, it felt _very_ early.

You didn’t even bother shoving off the covers; instead you burrowed further under them. Only Kevin would disturb you at this hour.

“Kev, you know the rules: so you better have one of the three approved offerings or get the hell out of my cave!”

“Offerings?” Sam chuckled.

“Yeah. Offerings. You better have food or drink, Kev, because your sex credit is no good here.”

“Good to know." Sam tucked his hair behind his left ear. "It’s not Kevin.”

You shove off the covers, your eyes resting where Kevin’s face would have been, but all you saw was flannel-covered chest. Then you looked up into two hazel green eyes sparkling with amusement. Definitely _not_ Kevin. “Sam! Oh! I’m _so_ sorry.”

Sam kept grinning, watching you blush as you became increasingly flustered. “So, I don’t have food or drink, but I was going to see if you were up for coffee or breakfast. Does that count? Or should I start taking off my clothes?” Sam put his fingers over the top button on his shirt and started to undo it.

You just stare at him for a minute. Obviously, he was kidding around, but the idea of Sam delivering sex to you made your brain short out. Still feeling mortified, you pulled the covers up to your neck, your eyes, studying your blanket. “Um, since you were not aware of the required offerings, I will accept your offering of sustenance in the near future.”

Sam dropped his hands back to his sides and tucked them in his pockets. “Uh, thanks. I came to tell you there’s food ready in the kitchen. Dean’s sort of enjoying KP. So that would be an offering of sustenance in the near future, right?”

You smile at him. That was your buddy, Sam, always game. You assumed a regal air and waved him off. “Your offering is acceptable. Now, please leave me to dress, and I shall join you shortly.”

“Want me to wait for you? The food’s hot now.”

You considered. “Yeah. Sure. Give me three minutes.”

Sam started to close the door, only his head peeking around the edge. “So just out of curiosity, is _my_ sex credit any good here?”

“Well, I can’t say from personal experience, but I’d be willing to take a chance on you.” You winked at him playfully,  and Sam looked at you like he might try to test that statement. “Not before coffee though. Now scoot so I can throw on some proper clothes.”

Sam made a big show of slumping his shoulders in defeat as he left the room.

Honestly, all Sam's teasing was going to destroy your resolve to follow Charlie's advice.

Hunting on the road honed your ability to be essentially ready and out the door in minutes if needed. You pulled a hoodie on over your camisole, tugged on jeans, socks, and laced up your army boots. A couple swipes with deodorant and a couple more with a hair brush, and you were set. You put your pocket knife in your pocket and slid lip balm on while you stepped out of your room and almost ran into Sam. You both smiled and fell into step heading towards the kitchen.

“So I guess I’ll have to establish my credit for the future.” Sam joked.

“First time offerings, must be of coffee or chocolate as a sign of good will.” You explained solemnly.

“Does the coffee I made that is waiting for us in the kitchen count?”

“Absolutely not. Do you see coffee currently in my hand? No. I had to get up for your theoretical coffee _and_ get dressed. The coffee and or chocolate must be brought to my quarters and the offering must be accepted to count.” Your face was serious, but he saw the laughter in your eyes.

Sam snorted with laughter. " _Theoretical_ coffee?"

"Yes, as I have neither seen it not tasted it, I have no proof of its existence. Geez Sam, I have standards for this sort of thing. Otherwise, no one respects my boundaries and elaborate boobie traps have to be set out.” You finished as you reached the kitchen.

“Do those boobie traps involve actual boobies?” Dean snickered. “Because if your idea of a boobie trap is flashing someone, I can’t see how that would be a deterrent.”

You and Sam go from flashing matching grins at each other to matching bitchfaces at Dean with such synchronous timing and expression that Dean holds up his hands in mock surrender and went back to cooking, muttering, “Great. Now there’s two of them.”

Kevin handed you coffee, and a plate of food breaking your glare at Dean’s back. “Thank you Kevin. I love a man who knows how to treat a woman in the morning: coffee and food in my hands, and I didn’t even have to ask.”

Dean shoulders move like he’s doing an unflattering impression of you in front of the stove.

“Yeah, well I know how you are when you’re tired and hungry when it’s _not_ ‘shark week’.” Kevin smiled. Shark Week was how you and Kevin affectionately referred to your time of the month and during that time, you were near homicidal when you were hungry or tired as opposed to just being a grouchy bitch. Only Kevin was allowed to see you during the 24 hours when you were a weepy, emotional puddle of your usual self.

Sam had a slightly pouting look on his face as he sat down. “I’m sorry; next time I’ll at least bring coffee.”

You put your mug down, and rubbed Sam's hand. “Aww, Sam. That wasn’t aimed at _you_. I was just teasing Dean, and Dean knows I’d never have serious complaint from anyone making my food, especially when it tastes this awesome. You brought me coffee yesterday. ” You leaned over and kissed his cheek and started to eat your breakfast. “ _And_ got me for breakfast yesterday and today.”

Sam just stared at you.

Your eyes got wide. You’d done that to all of them at some point. It wasn’t unusual for you to flirt lightly with all of them. You were an affectionate touchy-feely person as Cas was happy to remind you. But somehow it seemed different now. You needed to just shake it off before the over-thinking started again. You turned to Kevin. “So tonight’s your big night Kev!”

Kevin missed none of the exchange between you and Sam, but managed not to roll his eyes. “Yeah. Talia and I are heading out around six. I figured I’d organize and recopy some notes today, make a list of some research materials to try and scout for the tablet translation, and call it an early day to get ready.”

“Sounds good. Tap me in when you need my approval.” You take another bite of food, avoiding looking at Sam.

“Will do. What are you up to?”

“Well, after breakfast I was going to work out, get a shower, and then do something productive in the library. I can help you with your tablet research if you want. Sam, how about you?”

Sam cleared his throat, starting on his breakfast. “If you’re looking for a project, I was going to do some case research.”

You nod, munching on buttered toast. “Cool. Looks like that puts three of us in the stacks. Whichever one of you needs me more is fine. I’m up for grabs.”

Dean snorted into his orange juice. “I’m doing some routine maintenance on my baby today: flush out the hoses, change the oil, that sort of thing. Maybe you could lend me a hand with that instead, you know, if you’re up for grabs and all.”

You pat his hand, smiling. “It’s OK Dean; we’re all friends here. You can just say you’re going to be jerking off to _Busty Asian Beauties_ in the garage. I promise. We’ll leave you be.”

Dean shot you a heartbreaking smile. “Aww, come on darlin.’ No need to be so crass. I just haven’t gotten under her in awhile, and she needs some tender loving care from time to time. ”

“We still talking about the Impala?”

“You better be talking about your car.” Sam growled softly. Everyone looked at him, and Sam had this look on his face like he just realized that he spoke that thought aloud. “Because otherwise you just called your dick a she, ” he recovered smoothly.

You turn back to Dean. “So are you talking about the Impala, your dick, or your porn stash?” You roll your eyes grinning. “Sounds pretty dirty either way.”

Dean waggled his eyebrows. “Who says it has to be either or?”

You finish your plate and start getting up. “And on that note, I’m going to go sweat for awhile,” you turned to Dean, “Alo-one.” You maneuvered around the table to put your dishes in the sink, patted Sam’s shoulder, while looking at Kevin. "Catch you bookworms in a bit.”

* * *

 

You went back to your room to exchange your boots for sneakers and your jeans for yoga pants. You grabbed your iPod and headed to the bunker’s training room. You hooked your iPod up to an a/c cord and let your happy music surge through the speakers. _Slide_ by Goo Goo Dolls came on, and you sang along, stretching out and thinking about Sam.

_I wanna wake up where you are. I won’t say anything at all._

Dean passed the room while he headed for the garage, catching you listening to music. Your perky mood wasn’t lost on him. He’d have to ask Sam how his last visit to your room actually went.

After your workout, you catch a shower, dress, and head down to the library. Kevin and Sam are already working. “So who needs my help?”

Kevin made some unintelligible noise of brain burnout and left the room.

“O-Kaay. Sam, what can I help you look into?”

“Looking into recent news, seeing if there are any patterns.”

“I feel like Charlie should be able to help design some sort of news researching algorithm to help us with that one of these days, like a complex version of Google alerts.”

“That would be great, but until then . . .”

“We browse, skim, and make copious notes. I gotcha.” You boot up your computer. “If you log into messenger, send me the links to what you’ve found, and I can organize that to help find a pattern.”

“Sounds great.”

After a flurry of clicking and mouse swipes, Sam sends the four links he’s found so far, all school shooting cases. “School shootings? Really?”

“Just looking for patterns.”

“They’re there, but not necessarily the sort of patterns we want.”

“Can you run it anyway? I’ve got a hunch.”

“That’s enough for me.”

Sam grinned, clearly flattered.  

“You going to tell me what your hunch is?”

“Nope. I want you to look at it without bias and tell me what you see.”

“Makes sense.”

An hour later, you catch yourself staring at Sam while you’re giving your eyes a break from the screen. Sam sure was a lot easier to stare at.

A sound at the doorway jolted you out of it as Kevin came in with Cas bearing coffee, sandwiches, and doughnuts, and you quickly tried to refocus. Kevin handed you a chocolate-covered, cream-filled doughnut and coffee. While you took a careful bite, attentive to get chocolate and cream without making a mess, you snuck glances at Sam while he sipped his coffee and read. You zeroed in on Sam’s tongue poking out of his mouth to lick away powdered sugar and maple cream from his lips. Eventually, your thoughts started to wander again. _Ugh, why does Sam have to be so cute? Every time I look at his face, I just want to sit on it._

Cas turned to look at you sharply, and your eyes went wide in panic.

Your thoughts raced, ‘ _Cas, no. No Jedi tricks. No! Bad angel._ ’

Cas gave you a dark look that clearly said, ‘ _I’m not a dog,_ ’ and walked out of the room in a huff.

You followed after him, Kevin and Sam looking at you curiously.

Castiel led you down to a storage closet, closing the door once you were inside.

“My thoughts were _private_ , Cas.”

“Not the way you were looking at Sam, they weren’t.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” You roll your eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” Castiel glares at you, but you’re glaring right back.

“You know _exactly_ what I mean by that.”

Cas just glares more darkly at you before poofing away. You huff out an exasperated breath and headed back to the library. Sam and Kevin looked at you questioningly, but you shake your head and dig back into your work. Sam and Kevin exchange a look and then Kevin shrugs, going back to his jelly doughnut and Sam goes back to clicking his mouse and surfing the net.

After a few more hours of research, Kevin gets up to shower and an hour after that, he texts you to come to his room to help him finish getting ready for his date. You give Sam what you have so far and start to head out of the room, but Sam's voice brings you up short.

"Hey, do you want to get dinner too?"

"Sure. I think that one place in town has decent burgers and some pool tables. They might even have something you would eat."

"I eat burgers."

"Not restaurant burgers you don't. You only eat the low fat ones Dean and I make. Maybe they have salads or some sort of chicken parmesan or something."

"I'm sure they have something. So dinner, then pool?"

"Yeah, sounds good." You nod and head out of the library.

* * *

 

When you get to his room, Kevin is wrapped in a towel, looking in his closet. He finds what he's looking for and pulls out a pair of pants and puts them on the bed where about six different shirts and a couple pairs of "nice" jeans are already laid out.

"So, you need help with the whole outfit, huh?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not sure what the dress code is for a first date when you've already spent the night together."

"We'll figure it out. Let's see what you have here." You start pulling all the pants to the top of the clothes and consider thoughtfully.

Kevin nudged you. "So, what was with you last night? You forget how to play Munchkin?

You blush, remembering and grin. "Sam's cologne makes me stupid."

Kevin snickers. "Being around Sam makes you stupid."

You elbow him back, still grinning. "You're stupid." You take a deep breath, pushing aside thoughts of Sam to focus on Kevin's choice of date attire. "And I suppose you have all your brain cells around Ta-alia." You sang her name out

It's Kevin's turn to blushed and grin. "We're not talking about me."

"We are no-ow." You give him sly side eye. "So, where are you going with Talia for dinner?"

"There's this college cafe in the next town over."

"So trendy-casual. OK. Stick to jeans then. Save the nice pants for another date."

You hear a flap of wings and turn to see Castiel standing in the hallway. "_______, may I speak to you a moment?"

"Um, sure. We can talk in my room. Kevin, why don't you put on the jeans, socks, etc. and find a belt and then we can figure out the shirt?"

Kevin nods, and you lead Cas into your room and close the door.

"I'm assuming you want to speak with me privately about before."

Castiel shifts his feet uncomfortably. "Yes. I wanted to apologize about before. I might have been projecting my own frustrations onto you.”

“I'm sorry too. I may have been doing the exact same thing."

"Do we hug now?"

You smile at him, nodding. "Yes, Cas. We hug now."

You give Cas a good hug and lead him back to Kevin's room where Kevin is pulling on socks and shoes, his towel replaced by jeans.

"Hey Cas, I haven't seen you since the other night. How'd things go for you?"

"Fine Kevin, Thank you."

Kevin gives him a wicked grin. "So Cas . . .  did you get lucky?

"Yes."

You nearly tripped over your jaw, but Kevin managed to keep talking. "Really?"

"Yes. I spanked Dean 14 times. I felt very lucky."

"Is that it?"

"Are you asking if we had intercourse, Kevin?"

"Yup."

"No we did not. Still, I owe ____ a debt for affording me that opportunity."

You smile at Cas. "A small one, Cas. That wasn't that big a deal."

"Nevertheless, you cracking a door, as you said, was helpful I believe." Castiel turns to Kevin. "Did you get lucky? That girl ____ asked me to check on seemed to be a lovely person."

Kevin grins. "She is a lovely person. Talia and I are going to get dinner tonight." He turns back to his bed, "just as soon as I figure out what shirt to wear."

You pat Kevin's shoulder. "It's ok. Let's lay them all out on your bed, and we'll figure it out."

* * *

 

While you, Kevin, and Castiel make important fashion choices, Dean found Sam, freshly showered and holding his towel with his right hand and looking in his dresser with his left.

"Trying to figure out what to wear for your date?"

"It's not a date, Dean." His tone was annoyed, but he couldn't help the small smile forming.

"Come on. You two obviously hooked up again this morning, and now you're going out together in the evening. That's a date."

"We did not hook up again!"

"Uh, huh. You totally got some when you went to get her for breakfast. You were both all googley-eyed at breakfast, then you got all weird when I was talking about working on the Impala, and then she was listening to some sort of happy rock stuff when I passed the training room this morning.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “First of all, that happy rock stuff is more accurately called Snow Patrol, Coldplay, and Goo Goo Dolls, Dean. If you’re not going to update your music, at least get to know some names so you can bitch about it without sounding like a crotchety old man that ‘don’t like this new-fangled noise they call music nowadays.’ Second of all, I was _not_ being weird at breakfast.”

“Uh huh. Well now I definitely know you didn’t get laid, Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam pushed Dean out into the hallway.

"Make sure you dress nice and put on some cologne for your date."

"Have a good night with your car, Dean." Sam just shook his head and shut the door. Then he went back to his closet, what the hell did one wear to a not date that you wanted to be a date?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 will be up super soon, Chuck willing, and it is at least twice as long. Think smutty thoughts.


	10. Double Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Sam head out for the evening to shoot some pool. wackiness ensues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: maybe swearing, some smut (sortof), shameless teasing, also sorry if you’re not part of the MLP or TMNT fandom. It was useful to the dialogue. Not sorry for Star Wars references. The dialogue does get very drunk. Message me for translations if necessary.
> 
> There are more chapters with screencaps posted on my tumblr site:https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ladyataralasse tagged #ShenanigansandBlarney or #S&B
> 
> Acknowledgements: HUGE thanks to Spectaculacular-Sammy for helping me work it through and Especially for helping me “drunk up” the dialogue. Her writing is awesome and you should definitely check it out here:  
> http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy
> 
> Image credit:  
> http://www.homeofthenutty.com/supernatural/screencaps/thumbnails.php?album=69  
> http://screencapped.net/tv/supernatural/thumbnails.php?album=1489

♪ _Animal_ and _Sleeping with a Friend_ by Neon Trees; _Do I Wanna Know?_ by Arctic Monkeys; _Caught In A Moment_ by Sugababes♪

Another hour later, Kevin heads out with Talia in an old, silver civic, and you and Sam were climbing into your 1970 cobalt, blue barracuda. A short drive after that, you were climbing onto a tall wooden bar chair across from Sam. You watched him slide onto the seat with ease and chuckled.

Sam tucks his hair behind his ear. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Come on; out with it."

"It's just funny because for most people, this is a tall chair that we have to climb onto and for you, it's _finally_ a chair that's _your_ size."

Sam just shook his head laughing. "I never thought about it like that, but it is nice to have so much leg room for a change."

"Maybe we should get a tall table for the library and some tall chairs."

"What will you and Kevin do?"

"Develop our climbing muscles and feel very tall when we finally get to our perch. We'll finally able to see the big picture."

"That sounds useful."

"Our powers of observation will rival Hawkeye before long,."

Sam laughed with you, and there was something endearing about him laughing at your jokes.

Menus and orders came and went.

"So we're away from the bunker now."

"Yes?" You're wary now. Sam has a glint of mischief in his eyes.  

"Tell me about your desire to marry a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle."

You bury your face in your hands. "I hoped you'd forgotten about that."

"Nope. So, what's the story on that?"

"I was a kid . . . They were cool. They ate pizza, and had ninja skills, and saved people."

"I know. I sometimes caught it on TV when I was a kid staying in motels. It was on at like 6 a.m. Which one did you want to marry?"

"Donatello." You mumble into your arm.

"Who?" Sam's trying to hold back the laughter so you don't stop.

You bring your face up a little. "Donatello."

"Not Raphael? Not Leonardo? Not Michelangelo?"

"NO! No. I admit Raph was amazing in the original movie and when he got hurt . . . I wanted to nurse him back to health, but the cartoon is what I fell for and cartoon Donny was the one I wanted to marry." He's egging you on and you know it, but somehow his teasing isn't bothering you like it should.

Sam wasn't laughing now, he was just smiling. "Why Donatello? He wasn't the funny one or the leader."

"Donatello was the _smart_ one and Leo's second. I always thought that was extremely attractive even at that age, and he _was_ funny, he just wasn't Mikey-funny. Leo was amazing, but Donny always had my attention."

Sam thought about his drunken conversation with Dean about your taste in men. "Huh. So you're sapiosexual?"

"Yeah . . . I guess I am."

Sam ate a few of the peanuts in a basket on your table. "Huh. That's why I liked April O'Neil. She was smart and a fighter."

You looked at Sam a little more closely. "So you're sapiosexual too?"

"Yeah; I am."

"Huh."

"Huh."

Your food arrives.

You stirred your straw around in your drink studying the swirling of the liquid. "I always pegged you as a demisexual."

"What's that?"

"Someone who needs an emotional connection to be sexually attracted to someone."

Sam considered, smiling around a bite of salad. "I guess I'm that too. What about you?"

"I think I'm that way too, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I've had the occasional fling. I mean I suppose there was some emotional connection made, but it's not always something developed over more than an hour or so of mutual empathizing."

"Fair enough."

"Anyway, brains weren't the only thing Donatello had going for him."

"Oh yeah?"

You waited until Sam was taking a drink of his beer. "Well, you know, he also had a really big stick."

You barely dodged Sam spraying his beer across the table. "How's your beer there, BFG?"

"BFG?" Sam was sputtering, but still smiling.

"Big Friendly Giant, you know like the book by Roald Dahl?" Sam just kept looking at you like you might be slightly unhinged or like he was trying to figure out what you up to. "I'm trying something out."

"You're hilarious. So tell me about _My Little Ponies_ now."

"What about _My Little Ponies_?

"Kevin said you were making a _My Little Pony_ reference at breakfast. So I'm guessing that's another guilty pleasure of yours?"

"Who said anything about guilty?" You grab your breasts, pushing them together. “Woman.” You reply, echoing Jack Sparrow’s 'pirate.'

Sam snorted into his drink again. "I am, actually, fairly aware of that."

“I like girl stuff too, not _just_ Bruce Willis.”

“And _Ninja Turtles_.”

"Yeah. And anyway, there are tons of guys who love _My Little Ponies_ too."

"Oh really?"

"They're called Bronies. Educate yourself, sir."

Sam smiled at you through a few strands of hair that had fallen forward. "Maybe I like having _you_ educate me."

You took a careful bite of food, smiling back and trying not to choke as Sam’s choice of words immediately brought up imagines of riding crops and leather or some sort of teacher/student role-play. Neither of those things left much brain function for remembering to not breathe and eat at the same time. "I suppose that's only fair since you're going to help me polish up my pool skills."

 _Animal_ by Neon Trees

Here we go again; I kinda wanna be more than friends

So take it easy on me I'm afraid you're never satisfied

Here we go again; we're sick like animals, we play pretend

You're just a cannibal, and I'm afraid I won't get out alive

No, I won't sleep tonight

 

Oh oh, I want some more

Oh oh, What are you waiting for? Take a bite of my heart tonight

Oh oh, I want some more Oh oh, What are you waiting for?

What are you waiting for? Say goodbye to my heart tonight

 

Here we are again; I feel the chemicals kickin' in

It's getting heavy, and I wanna run and hide

I wanna run and hide; I do it every time

You're killin' me now, and I won't be denied by you, the animal inside of you

 

Oh oh, I want some more.

Oh oh, What are you waiting for? Take a bite of my heart tonight

Oh oh, I want some more. Oh oh, What are you waiting for?

What are you waiting for? Say goodbye to my heart tonight

 

Hush, hush, the world is quiet. Hush, hush, we both can't fight it.

It's us that made this mess. Why can't you understand?

Whoa, I won't sleep tonight. I won't sleep tonight

 

You tell Sam all about the newest incarnation of _My Little Ponies_ , including the episode where Rarity is captured by the diamond dogs and proves that she is both tough enough to take care of herself and a lady. While you "educate Sam," you both eat your dinner, and Sam asks questions about Equestria that let you know he's at least interested in learning more about it because you think it matters. When the food clears, you grab a free pool table, and Sam gets you both drinks.

Sam handed you a drink in a frosted highballglass. "Whiskey and ginger?"

"Yes, please. I want to nurse it." You put your drink down on a table, and he does the same so you can grab your cue sticks. When you bring Sam his cue stick, you surprised him with a hug. "I still owed you a hug from yesterday morning.”

Sam tries to form words and hold onto the cue stick in spite of the distracting scent of your hair and close press of your body. “Oh?”

“You brought me coffee, apparently risking life and limb to do so, and as I said before: I _always_ pay my debts.”

"So what are you a Lannister?"

"I have Lion-like qualities, but Lannisters aren't the only ones who pay their debts."

“Good to know.” Sam chuckles, hugging you back. “I’m impressed you remember that particular debt, but you _did_ hug me last night.”

“Yeah, but that was a 'thank you' hug." You pulled back and started to chalk your cue. "That one was for a fun game night. I don’t think Dean would have given _Munchkin_ a chance without your puppy eyes.”

Sam took a long pull from his beer to settle his nerves. “I think Dean enjoyed it in spite of himself.”

“Me too." You rack up the balls, rolling them in their triangle into place. "Maybe we can get him to play again one of these days.”

“Maybe.”

You grin at him, cajoling. “You can always use your puppy eyes to convince him again.”

“What these?” Sam makes those puppy eyes that just melt your insides, making you tremble involuntarily.

“You should really register those.”

Sam's expression breaks, laughing. “What?”

“Your puppy eyes. They’re dangerous. They should be registered as concealed weapons.”

Sam chuckled. “Maybe I have. Maybe that’s how trouble keeps finding us.”

Your face broke into a saucy grin. “Then you should undo it immediately.” You remembered a line from Buffy, “Undo it! Undo it!” You yell in a mock British accent.

“ _What_ are you _talking_ about?”

“On this episode of _Buffy_ , Spike was yelling that when Buffy was fighting a Native American spirit, and it turned into a bear.”

“I’m not sure I remember that one.”

“Well, it's not like you could just sit around motels waiting for the next episode to come on. You had more important things to worry about. You had to save the world with your family, not watch _Buffy_ save the world on TV."

Sam ducked his head, in that way he had that made him look smaller and smiled up at you through his hair, affecting a Texan drawl, "Glad you think so, miss."

You rolled your eyes at Sam addressing you like some muggle he just saved while he was posing as a Texas Ranger. "Yeah, well we could watch that when we get home, educate you some more.”

"Depends." Sam chalked his stick.

"On what?"

"How rusty you are. You want to break?"

"No. I'd rather watch you break this time. It's been a long time, and your forearms greatly resemble my calves, so your break will be way more impressive."

Sam moves around the perimeter of the table, purposefully, and it's impossible not to admire the way he's suddenly surefooted, panther like, letting every inch of himself tower over the green felt. He positions the cue ball right where he wants it, gauging angles. "It's not about strength as much as power. Power is just controlling the strength you have."

Sam crouches over the table and lines up the shot. When he slides the cue stick forward, it's like watching a pinball shooter uncoil, the crack of sound echoes through you making your body shudder. Colored spheres spin across the surface of the table towards the pockets, the rich sound of them knocking against each other thundering through you like your vertebrae was adjusting into place at that same time as your entire body tunes into him. There's something about watching Sam when he's being totally at ease, completely in his element, and utterly in control that's irresistible. All of a sudden, you can see everything he is, everything Sam downplays most of the time, and it is intimidating and ridiculously hot.

"You ok?"

Sam's talking to you, and you're spacing out thinking about how amazing he is. You shake your head. "Yeah. I'm good. Sorry. Just visualizing. That's how you get better in sports, right? Visualizing."

"Ah yeah. Right."

The first round of pool went pretty much as expected.  Sam helped you work on your technique. Eventually, you got over watching Sam’s body maneuver into various positions to make perfect shots just enough to focus on making some perfect shots of your own. Sam helped you remember how to calculated angles, how much pressure to use, how much to give, how to set yourself up for the next shot, and all the other technical aspects of winning.

During that round, you both also finished your first round of drinks, so while you went to get more social lubricant Sam took a quick call from Dean. "Dude, how's it going?"

"Fine, I guess. She's improving her pool skills. We're having fun. We're talking. Things are going well."

"So basically you guys are having another 'just friends' outing again, just without the rest of us watching it?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I don't know man; I mean I want something happen, but it should happen organically. It should feel right."

"You know what I think would feel right for you, Sammy? Getting your hands back on that girl again. You know what you need to do to make that happen tonight?"

"What?"

"Every time you start feeling yourself drifting into the friend zone again, start asking yourself one very simple question: What Would Dean Do?"

"Seriously? That's your advice? What Would Dean Do?"

"Trust me; it'll work. Now, get back in there, Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam slid his phone back into his pants just as you came back the pool table, drinks in hand.

Sam smile flirtatiously and leaned in a little closer than he really needed to take the beer from your hand. "Thanks. You seem to be doing pretty well with getting the basic skills back again."

"Thank you. I've been on the receiving end of excellent instruction."

"You ready to practice the hustling end of it?"

"Absolutely. I put myself into your very capable hands, Yoda."

Sam cringed. _Yoda?_ Sam thought. _Yeah, that was sexy. Dean was right._ He turns to you and makes his best sassface. "Yoda? Is that really the best thing you can come up with for me?"

"Sensei?"

"That's better. At least that doesn't make me an ancient, tiny, green alien."

"Who is also the most badass, Jedi ever!" Your tone is full of scorn, but your eyes are teasing.

"True, but still . . . Sensei at least sounds like I've got a cool sword."

You snicker, "Yeah ya do," under your breath. Then you turn to Sam and speak up, "Fair enough. I'll work on it."

"That's all I ask." Sam took a drink and then put it on the table you both were using in the corner for your coats and drinks. "Now, the thing you need to remember is that after you get all of the technical points of playing pool, or really any other game, nailed down, the next step is to learn how to play your opponent. As much as you're playing the angles and playing the table and playing yourself, you're playing the person across from you. When you're playing to win, half the game is what you do on the table and half is what you can get the other person to do by hitting them at the right angles."

It's not like you've never hustled a game of pool before, but Sam is surprisingly delightful as a teacher. He's not making you feel like he's being patronizing or condescending. It's just sexy as hell. "So mind games: try to break their concentration, distract them, or get them to make a mistake in your favor, right?"

"Yeah, just like that."

"Okay, then, let's play."

Sam gave you a smirk that seemed to say: _You asked for it._

Technically, you made the next move. You made a point of bending over further than you needed to while you racked up the balls. Sam showed his approval by giving your ass a little pat and suggesting that you break. You responded by making sure to give Sam a good view of your ass and your assets while you took your shot. You know what he was up to. Sam was trying to mess up your game, trying to get you to be better at flirting and teasing, using your wiles to win the game without getting distracted yourself. You're going to need a lot more practice for someone like Sam to not affect your game, especially when he's playing dirty.

One more drink later, you were going after the eight ball when Sam came up behind you, leaned completely over your body so that his lips were right under your ear beside your neck. Sam whispers just distinctly enough that you could feel his breath skating down over your throat and the exposed tops of your breasts, "That's it. Just line up the shot, take a deep breath, and let it go."

Needless to say you did _not_ make the shot. You're response of a well-intended ass bump to get him to back up wasn't quite as much of a nudge or a punishment as much as your ass grinding into his groin. It in no way had him moving out-of-the-way for the next minute or so, but it did have Sam sniffing the line at the back of your neck, burying his nose in your hair.

Your voice came out in rough pants. "Your turn, hot shot."

Sam ran his nose back down your neck before he stepped back from you and sank the eight ball, finishing the round and giving you a minute to think.

Sam's sudden intensity startled you. Was he just messing with you to see how you played amidst distraction? It sure didn't feel that way from where your ass was taking notes. What happened to the guy that needed things to move slower? Had you seriously miscalculated? This called for a second opinion.

Sam started to rack up the balls again. "You know what we need for a third round? We're going to start playing for shots. When you come back, I'll have the table set up. You call all your shots. For every one you miss, you have to drink."

"Given the fact that I'm half your size, Sam, I demand my shots are half the size of yours."

"I am willing to acquiesce to your request." Sam heads to the bar to get shots. "In no part because I think I can make you miss twice as much as I do."

"We'll see about that." You excused yourself to the bathroom. Kevin was on his date and you needed to talk to another woman anyway, so you punch in Charlie's number. "Charlie, I think we need to adjust the plan."

"Why? What's happening? Kevin texted me that you and Sam are out playing pool. Is wackiness is ensuing?"

"No! Wackiness is not ensuing! It is spinning further and further out of control like a whirling dervish of doom."

"Calm down. What's happening?"

You hiss like an angry goose into the phone. "I can't calm down! Sam has all the brain that I might use to calm down pooling in my panty region."

"Take me through it, one step at a time."

"Sam asked me to come out to shoot some pool, work on my hustling skills. It sounded harmless and fun and friendly, just like you suggested, but now, Sam is buying us shots. I don't have much time. I was hanging out with him, trying to keep things light and friendly and playful so he has time to adjust, but Sam is all over me. At first, I thought he was just helping me line up my cue stick and improve my form and learn how to mess with people when you hustle pool, but now there's butt pats and nuzzling and I think that soon there will be body shots. What the hell should I do? I can't behave myself under these conditions forever."

"Huh. Well if Sam's making the moves, go with it. Maybe he didn't need that much time to warm up to the idea of being more than friends, so go with it."

"You sure?"

"Do you _not_ want to do body shots with Sam?"

You snorted a laugh. "Charlie, I would do shots of vinegar if I got to do them off that body."

"Yuck! Then let wackiness ensue! Go, woman! Go!"

 **_Do I Wanna Know?_ ** **by Arctic Monkeys**

Have you got color in your cheeks?

Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift, the type that sticks around like something in your teeth?

Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep?

I dreamt about you nearly every night this week. How many secrets can you keep?

'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat

Until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee (Do I wanna know)

If this feeling flows both ways? (Sad to see you go)

Was sort of hoping that you'd stay (Baby we both know)

That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

You did what you came into the bathroom to do, touched up your lipstick, and headed back out to the pool table where Sam had six shots on your table. You sauntered over and started chalking up your cue stick. "So, Captain Tightpants, if I break and sink one in, do you do a shot?"

"Captain Tightpants?"

"Captain Malcolm Reynolds is good at hustling, and Kaylee calls him Captain Tightpants."

He shakes his head, thinking it's better, but not quite the direction he needs your head to be in. "Keep working on it, Padawan." Then Sam's face goes sly and thoughtful. You track him as he stalks over to you. When he reaches you, Sam leans over you, almost pressing you into the table again, his mouth by your ear again. "I have an idea: What about Master? A Padawan learner calls her teacher, _Master_."

You quivered, and Sam definitely felt it against his body. "So, um, _Master_ Winchester, how rusty am I?"

"Rusty?" Sam's voice was suddenly almost as rough as Dean's.

"You said before, we had to play until I got the rust out. So am I still rusty? Or do we need more social lubricant?"

Sam grins. "Definitely more."

Four shots later, you’re drunk while Sam who _has_ been doing better, is tipsy, but not drunk. Every few words are starting to slur together.

You "accidentally drop something" while he was taking his shot and bent to pick it up, giving him a distractingly clear view down your shirt. Sam missed the shot, popped the cue, and then crawled under the table to pick it up were it rolled: at your feet. Sam picks up the cue and looks at you from his knees, giving you the once-over. You look up at him, standing, and suddenly, it really strikes you how much taller Sam is than you even on his knees. The height difference seems hilarious for some reason, and you work to stifle a giggle.

Sam looks like he's trying to smile instead of being insulted. "What's so funny?"

"It's just you're so much taller than I am. Even now, when you're not even standing, I still have to look up a little. I don't know; it just seemed funny. You're like a giant next to me."

"You and Dean are just jealous."

"I don't know that I want to be that tall. I'd just run into things all the time. I guess that's just it. No matter what you do, you are a million times taller than me, _and_ you're still more graceful."

Sam thought about the dropped tray of food. "I'm not sure our breakfast yesterday agrees."

"You didn' drop it because yer clumsy. Y'dropped it because y'were trying t'save me."

"From nothing apparently."

"Still. Not evidence of lack-a gracefulness."

"Well thank you for that, but I'm still not a _million_ times taller than you."

"You are _so_ tall!"

"You are _so_ drunk."

"You wear _a lot_ of plaid."

"Are we competing for Captain Obvious?"

"If we are, you're behind. You're also wa-ay behind my level of drunkenness _again_. It's ju-ust _rude_ to keep letting me get hammered while you watch from the thro-one of lightly-buzzed and mock me."

Sam grins thinking about Dean's advice, "Fair enough, but my pool skills will no longer count."

"Who's counting? We're _drinking_."

He finishes another four shots in rapid succession while you stare at the liquid moving down his throat with obscene fascination.

Two shots later, you're sitting on the table, laughing hysterically at a random train of thought.

Sam looks at you. “Wha's so funny?”

“I’m thinking tha' if we re-eally wanted to fuck w' Dean, we lift a car tha’s keyless.”

“I think tha’s beyond m' grand theft auto skills.”

“But jus-st picture it.” You slur, making large hand gestures to illustrate how Sam should picture it.

He grinned, gamely. “Y’re right. Tha' little tantrum would be hilarious.”

“He’d go full-on old man. _What the hell is it with these new-fangled cars? They don’t even have freakin’ keys. How the hell does this piece of shit work_?”

“Wow. Tha’s not bad.” Sam chuckled.

“I sh'dn’t tease though, I mean m'car isn’t 'xactly new.”

“'S it older than the M'pala?”

"No, it's a few years newer, actually. But I mean, I can drive th' button car too. I's'not like I’m a luddite.”

“While yer use of the word luddite while hammered is pretty hot, Dean did learn how to use a translation app and made an exorcism recording fer his phone.”

"Are you defending Dean?"

"No, jus' sayin' as a lawyer, tha' you need some addition'l counter arguments t'make yer case."

You consider. "Dean did MacGyver his own EKG reader out of a Walkman too."

"EMF. An EKG 's a medical thing."

"EMP?"

"No tha's totally differen'. That's a weapon. E-M-F."

"Right. I’m losing m' own case aren’t I?”

“Yes, my Padawan. You've been lawyered.”

“Damn it, Winchester! More booze!”

Eight more shots later . . . mostly for Sam . . . You've both given up on playing pool and are just eye fucking while you do suggestive things to the pool cues and colored balls.

"Sam, I think we are done playing pool." You take time to enunciate every word.

"Agreed." Sam nods emphatically, making his hair flop in front of his eyes.

Sam pays the tab while you clean up the pool table as best you can. When he comes back, you put on your coats, and Sam wraps an arm around your shoulders as you both head out the door.

"So you think I wear a lot of plaid, huh?" Sam moves his arm down to tuck a hand into your back pocket and guides you both toward the car.

You grin loopily at the warm, possessive feel of his hand in your pocket. "Well ya do."

"Somethin' wrong w'th plaid?"

"Nooooo. Of course not; suits you. You l'k really, really great in plaid. I m'n you l'k ev'n better in nothin' but…”

“I l'k bett'r in nothin', huh?”

“Yeah. You look amazin' in nothin'.”

"I am currently wearin' plaid, but if y' want, when we g't ba'k I could be wearin' nothin'."

"Why wait? I hav' an empty backs't of m' car."

"M' plaid snaps in th' front."

"Want to' show me how tha' works in th' car while we wait t' sober up?

Sam fishes the car keys from your pocket and opens the passenger door to let you into the backseat. "Well, then, uh, come-on in darlin' the water's warm."

You follow gamely after Sam, then turn to shut the door and lock it. The movement is completely unsteady, and you don't trust the way the ground keeps shifting under your feet. You fall back in the back seat partially on purpose into Sam's warm, flannel and denim-covered self, your hands automatically starting to roam like you've done this a thousand times, except you haven't, never sober, and you're far from that now and so is he. The cold air has really made the alcohol hit you like last time you and Sam went out. His body is so warm and solid the way the world isn't right now. You feel like your car is bending around you. You're holding Sam, he's holding you, the car is holding you both.

There are a million things you _want_ to say or feel like you _should_ say. Things got so messed up after the last time and then they were better, and tonight . . . you don't really know what to make of any of it, but Sam's right under your fingertips and answers can wait. Sam is warm and willing and so powerful under your hands. You can't stop touching him and the feeling is mutual. You look up into his face and suddenly realize that you haven't kissed him yet. How is that possible? Your one hand is anchored in his shirt, and Sam has one wrapped around you, holding you close against him. Your eyes lock while you touch the stubble of his cheek, and Sam strokes your face gently. Then your lips are on his, and you can taste him and that's everything.

You have Sam's scent in your nose, and you inhale hard while his tongue slides into your mouth, filling your senses with _him_. Your hands tug at his shirt and as promised, the snaps fly open, giving you miles of bare, toned skin to play with. You can't decide which parts of him to taste first. Sam's having the same trouble deciding between your neck and your lips, and you both giggle a little as you both waver between kissing on the mouth and tasting other skin. Your eyes catch on his neck, a thin sheen of sweat there and your mind's made up and your tongue gets the first taste of salty, sandalwoody throat. It's perfect. You can feel his pulse jump under your tongue, and it just spurs you on to use teeth.

Sam's hand that's not currently employed in anchoring you to him is stroking your neck, while his tongue traces your ear, and then his hand slides down to run over the tops of your breasts. You moan encouragement and he tips you back, giving himself more access. Your thighs wrap around his waist, letting you pull your lap closer to his. You both groan at the contact, the friction.

 _Not enough_. That's all Sam can think: _It's not enough._ He can feel your hands, one grabbing his ass and the other in his hair while your mouth is leaving marks on his neck that will be visible for a week. _Good,_ he thinks. _She can't brush it aside if she sees the marks every time she see me. Whatever's been holding her back is clearly gone now._ Sam's afraid to ask where you want this to go. He should follow Dean's advice and do what Dean would do, but it's _you_ , and he isn't sure he can trivialize his feelings that way. Then Sam's hands touch soft curves, and he's not thinking about should or shouldn't anymore.

Sam's hands are greedy as he slides up under your shirt. He wants to take it off, but you're in a car, and he doesn't want anyone else seeing you like this. Under your shirt, he pushes your bra down, running a thumb over your nipples one after the other, firm, but gentle, tracing, testing, teasing, memorizing. Sam needs this, every touch that makes the last few days feel worth all the worry. He pulls his hand free, pulling your shirt down just enough for his mouth to do what his hands were.

You see white as Sam's mouth closes around one nipple then the other. You notice he's careful to keep you covered by his mouth or your shirt at all times as he alternates between licking and kissing one nipple then the other. You're not worried about someone seeing. All you can think about after the pleasure is that it's considerate because the air is cold. He's not though. Sam's hot like molten steel. And you need more of him. You can feel him hard and tight, rubbing between your legs through your jeans and his. Your legs tighten, pulling you closer to Sam. His tongue and lips are starting to suck, just hard enough on your nipple to start building need between your legs. You feel yourself starting to get closer, and he hasn't even taken a hand below your waist.

You want him in your mouth, but when you think about repositioning yourself to get your face level with his pants, the car spins in your reality and you don't think you have the balance for that action. Your mind fills with unsexy images of falling face first at his lap and poking yourself in the eye. The resulting giggles have the undesirable effect of stopping Sam's tongue.

He covers you back up and pulls back, soothing your shirt with his hand. "Sorry. You ticklish?"

You shake your head, cupping his face so it doesn't go too far from its previous locale. "No, sor-rry. S-stupid mental image. S-sam, I think we'r' too drunk to do much mor-re in the car."

Sam smiles, tenderly. "Tha's fine. We can jus' do thisss for 'while. 'Til we sober up."

"Sam, I don' think tha's goin' to happen for awhile. We are ver-ry drunk."

"Yes."

"You, maybe even mor-re than me."

"Yes."

"It's gettin' kinda cold to wait to sober up in th' car."

"Yes."

"We cannot driv' home."

"No."

You look for your car keys a minute, and then realize where they are. "Also, I locked the keys outside the car."

"Oh no. Wha' do we do?"

"I hav' an idea if you're ready to go."

"Yes?"

"I'll call Cas ta beam Dean here so he can drive m'car home."

"Wha 'bout us?"

"Werr drunk. We stay in th' back seat."

"Excellent. Call Dean." Sam keeps one arm wrapped around you and takes out his phone with his other hand for you before zoning out staring at the frost on the window pane.

Dean is the top of the speed dial, so it's easy, thank technology.

A gravelly voice answers, "Hello, this is Dean's phone."

"Cassss? Wher's De'n?"

"Dean is busy."

"Busy? Wha' kinda busy?" You snicker.

You can hear Cas roll his eyes in irritation when he huffs out a breath. "The kind that leads to defecating. Dean asked me to pick up the phone."

"Oh. Ew. TMI, Cas."

"You asked."

"My mistake. Cas, 'member you said you owed me one?"

"Yes."

"Pop Dean here to driv' us home, and we're even."

"Are you sure? You sound intoxicated. I'm not sure you're making good decisions."

"Don't ask stupid questions, Cas. S'not that big a deal."

Sam wakes up from his frost trance and leans over to you and the phone. "Hey Dean!"

"It's. Not. Dean." Cas growls.

"Where's De-"

You cover Sam's mouth with your hand. "Don't ask!"

Sam shrugs and mouths "OK" when you remove your hand. Then he takes the phone. "Is Deeean's mouth occupied, Cas?"

"NO!"

On the phone, you hear Dean: "Cas, who is it?"

"A couple of assbutts."

Dean shoots Cas a confused look and takes the phone, glancing at the caller ID. "Hey Sam."

"Deeeaaannn."

"How's it going, Sammy? You sound drunker."

"I took yer advice, and now we need ya ta come'n drive 's home."

"And how am I supposed to do that, brain trust?"

"Cas will boop you."

"Cas will do what to me?"

"Beam you here!" You and Sam start laughing hysterically and drop the phone. "Beam you up, Scotty!"

You're still laughing when Dean shows up with Castiel moments later, "Hey 's Luke Skywa'k'r and ee's 'ere to rescuu us! An' ee's 'ere with Benn K'nobee!"

Dean just shakes his head. "Look Princess, I ain't in this for your revolution. I expect to be well paid. I'm in it for the money."

You pat Dean's hand, where it's resting on the back of the driver's seat. "Don' you worr'ee 'bout the monee. 'F monee s'all you love, than tha's wha' you'll receive."

Sam puts his head on your shoulder, chiming in, "'Cept we'av no monee. How 'bout beer?"

Dean pushes at Sam's head, effectively nudging you both back into the back seat. "Alright, alright, Jar Jar. I think you've all had enough beer for one night."

"You're fuggin' Jar-Jar, I'm Master Winchester. She said so." Sam drunkenly pulled you up against his chest.  

You patted Sam's chest, still bare from earlier. "S'true. I did."

"I don't even want to know. Cas flip down your blast shield." Dean holds up your car keys that he found hanging out of the door of the car. "Forget something?"

Sam grabs Dean's hand. "We locked th'keeeeys outta th'car! Thank goodness ya came along to let us out!"

"Yeah, because you couldn't have just unlocked the door from the inside to get them."

You and Sam looked at him confused. Sam spoke first. "Then how wouldya get in?"

Dean starts to explain, and then took a closer look at both of you. "You two didn't happen to eat a couple Leviathan burgers, right?"

You laugh hysterically and turn to Sam. "Dee'n thinks we're stupid because of th' drinking."

Sam turns back to Dean, trying to keep a straight face. "Not that we know about."

Castiel turns to look at both of you. "Based on the state of them, I'd say it's equally likely that neither of them possesses the requisite blood supply to keep their brains functioning."

You and Sam look at each other, completely confused, and then back at Dean and Castiel.

Dean thinks about translating Castiel's comment to an explanation about only having enough blood for a penis _or_ a brain, but neither of you are paying any attention to Dean anymore, you're kissing again.

"Hey, settle down back there. No funny business until we get back to the bunker, OK? That's all I ask."

"Funny business?" You protest. "What f'nny bizz'ness?"

"I am many things, but fortunately for you, your car, and all the solid objects between here and the bunker, I am not blind. Now, kindly remove your hand from my brother's thigh. Sam, button up that shirt, and let's get this show on the road."

"It snapsss, Dee'n, not buttonssss."

"Enough!"

You giggle. "Fair 'nough. Not blind. What'd you rath'r I do w' m' hand? It needs something t' do."

Dean nearly swallows his tongue.

Sam grins and wraps his arms around you to pull your back to his chest, like you were his stuffed animal. "I 'ave an idea." He reaches for your hand.

Castiel and Dean turn around from the front seat in tandem: "NO!"

Sam threads his fingers through yours and holds them up. "Relax guysss. I'm just holdin' her hand."

You and Sam both dissolved into giggles and cuddling all the way back to the bunker. You didn't kiss any more, just giggled and stared into each other's eyes. You got lost in stroking Sam's arms and chest through his flannel and running your fingers through his hair, while Sam traced gentle circles on your belly and played with your hair and traced your face with his fingertips.

When Dean parked the car, he shooed you and Sam out of the back seat. "OK, take it to someone's room you two. You've been eye sexing each other so hard on the drive home it's a wonder you didn't burn off your clothes!"

"Thass'a good idea, Dean. I'll take us somewhere." Sam moves to pick you up and stumbles back against the car.

Dean puts a hand on his chest. "Easy there, Sasquatch. You shouldn't be carrying anyone." Dean scoops you up. "Where to?"

You look at Sam for guidance.

Sam's face cleared as he seemed to suddenly remember something. "Ah, m' room, De'n. _____ lef' somethin' there th' other night tha' I need to return t' her."

"Ew. Too much innuendo!"

Sam chuckles. "Jeez De'n, get laid already. Yer mind is livin' in tha' gutter. I hav' her hair clip."

"OK, but no more of that talk on the way, or I will drop you both in the dungeon."

You snicker. "Oh no, Dean. Pleeeeease don' lock us in th' room with all th' bondage. Howev'r will we pass th' time 'til sobriety?"

"I will chain you to opposites sides of the room!"

"Then I w'll start t' randomly displacin' yer coffee with decaf before y' wake up!"

Dean dumps you unceremoniously on Sam's bed. "Here; take her. Sam, are you sure you want her? She's vicious and uncivilized."

"Like y're one t' talk!" You snarl.

Sam smiles and pets your head, and you melt against his hand like a cat. "I'll train her, don' worry. She's m'Padawan."

Dean rolls his eyes. "You two are such nerds. Just remember, a toy lightsaber is not a dildo and The Force is not as good as a condom."

"I think m'ready for m'next lesson Master Winchesser."

"Prrhaps sa'more li'saber trainin'?"

Dean's face looks like he's trapped somewhere between thinking this is hot and completely grossed out.

"Time ferya ta jump ta li'speed, Dah'eeen. I wanna seem Sam's li'sssaber."

Dean whips the door shut, and you and Sam laugh at yourselves and Dean's face for a few minutes. Then Sam seems to notice you're on a bed, _his_ bed. Sam pounces on to the bed, caging your body with his limbs. Surprised, you yell out, "It's a trap!" Leaving you both dissolving back into giggles.

Then your eyes catch each other and you both move in to kiss, but the drunken balance and the mattress work against you. Your head bumps into Sam's and in the process of trying to reorient yourselves, you both fall off the bed, onto the floor, Sam crushing you under him. You're both still laughing when you yell, "Shut down all the garbage mashers on th' detention level!"

This only makes you both laugh harder. You both stumble-crawl back onto the mattress beside each other. Then you turn, facing each other, and shift closer, sharing breath, grinning. You lean in and kiss Sam, your fingers playing with his hair. You're getting sleepy, but Sam is right there and so irresistible. His hand slides onto your hip, pulling you closer.

"You smell re-eally good, Sam." Kiss.

"Yeah? You too." Kiss. Kiss.

Your other hand starts to open his shirt back up. "So y're gonna train me, huh?"

Sam chuckles against your mouth, puffs of air warming your face. "How doya'no m 'not already trainin' ya?"

Your hand finishes with his shirt and moves down, cupping him over his jeans, making Sam buck against you. "Nice li'saber. Le' me play with it?"

Sam is caught somewhere between snorting with laughter and groaning while you unbutton his pants, lowering the fly and sliding your hand over him. Sam's face buries in your hair, moaning through clenched teeth, pulling you harder against him. You roll both of you over and straddle Sam, running your hands over him, rolling your hips. Sam, wraps his arms around you, getting a grip on your ass with one hand and cradling your head with the other, his fingers in your hair, anchoring you to him and then rolls on top of you. Sam's hips press you into the mattress while your hands run over his ass and the backs of his thighs, those wonderful legs. He helps you pull off your shirt and moves to get your bra hook with one hand.

You lift your back to help him, and then before he can dive in, you hold him off, gently. "Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Please."

"Please?"

"I need pants off."

"You pants off or me pants off?"

"Both. Now."

"Right." Sam hesitates just a moment, before thinking, _What would Dean Do? He'd finish what he started._ Sam gives you a long kiss, and then unsteadily, stands up. "Jus' giv' me a minute. Then I'll help you with tha'." Sam roots though a drawer for condoms and finds some matches and a couple candles. 

"Wha're ya doin'?"

"Jus' settin' a mood. Lay bac'. Be rig' ther'."

 

 


	11. Double Blarney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a fun night of playing pool, you and Sam both come to the decision that things need to change between you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry

♪ _Dreaming with a Broken Heart_ by John Mayer; _Shattered_ by Trading Yesterday; _Breathe_ (feat. Colbie Caillat) by Taylor Swift; _Nothing_ by The Script; _Can't Shake You_ by Gloriana; _Ships in the Night_ by Matt Kearney♪

When you wake up, nothing feels good or right. You can't see properly because your head seems to be wrapped in something that turns out to be Sam's jeans. Sam, however, isn't in there with you, but you don't have long to worry about that because next thing you know, you're groping for Sam's trashcan and vomiting. The trashcan has a strange burning scent to it mixed with your vomit, and you think you see some plaid in there.

None of this makes sense.

You look around the room; clothes and condoms are everywhere, but nothing looks right. Your pants are around your ankles, and your underwear is on. Your bra is on, but your shirt is missing. Then you get sick again. You can find your other clothes later.

You wrap yourself up in a blanket and head for your room, trash can in one arm, the other holding the blanket. You pass the bathroom and hear more vomiting. You crack the door and risk a shout. "Sam?"

A weak, miserable groan echoes distantly. "I think so. Probably can't vomit away your identity, though I'm trying."

"Hey Sam. How's it going?"

"Awesome; me and this toilet should be announcing our engagement any day now." The sound of his own voice echoing around the bathroom was agony. The vibration seemed to be projecting from the walls straight into his skull.

"Mazel tov. Hey Sam, maybe we need to go easy on these nights of drinking games for awhile. I think we're exceeding our fun capacity."

"What? But last night was so much . . ." Hurk. "You're right. I surrender. Last thing I remember clearly was trying to light some candles and nearly setting myself on fire. I think I tossed the charred remains of the shirt in the wastebasket to keep from burning down the room."

You look in the waste basket in your hands. "Don't worry. If it was still burning, I think I just put it out."

"Can you come in here to talk? This feels weird talking through a closed door."

"Us talking in the bathroom will be less weird?"

"Well, it will be less shouting; the echoing is awful."

"Valid."

You shuffle carefully into the bathroom and slide to the cold tile floor near Sam's stall. Sam sits up cautiously, looking at you awkwardly. You're not sure where to look either, but you both lamely make half-hearted efforts to clasp fingers without succeeding.

Sam pushes his damp hair away from his face and wipes his mouth. He tries to keep his face neutral. This has to be the most awkward question he's ever asked, and he has no idea how to phrase it.  “Did we, um, did we . . .”

“Have sex last night?”

“Yeah.” His tone is somewhere between relief that he didn't have to finish the sentence and bewilderment.

A look of mortification crosses your face. “Lord, I hope not.”

Sam winced like you’d slapped him. “Ouch.”

“What?" Your face is genuinely confused for a minute. The idea of _that_ happening and not remembering is so creepy you shudder again. Then you understand how Sam took it and manage to actually briefly squeeze his hand. "Sorry. Nothing personal, Sam. I just don’t like the idea of having blackout sex. It freaks me out." You try to crack a smile, crack a joke, but even as the words come out it feels flat, hollow. "Don’t worry. I'm sure I’d be feeling it if we had.” You think back to Sam's room. “In fact, based on the state of things in your room . . . I don’t think we successfully completed anything in the 'get naked category.' We didn’t even finish getting out of clothes. I think as . . . hook-ups go, we failed utterly.” You hated that word: hook-up. It was right up there with 'friends with benefits' right now. But couldn't think of one you liked so you settled on the only one you could think of in the moment.

Sam winced when you said, 'hook-up.' He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or throw up. Fortunately or otherwise, his stomach made the call, and Sam made a flailing grab for his toilet bowl. “Better luck next time?”

Something inside you recoiled. The idea of making hooking up with Sam a regular thing didn't have the same appeal you thought it would before . . . not like this . . . now, the idea of getting drunk and hooking up with Sam periodically made everything feel like a tawdry affair. You had to find a way to buy some time to get yourself sorted out . . . one way or another. “I don’t know . . . I think my body needs me to take a break on the drinking for awhile. Look, Sam I just, I need a break from all this crazy fun to recover. You know?"

Sam nodded miserably. You needed a break from _him_. His stomach gave another strong lurch that left him gasping. "Yeah. Looks like I do too."

Still feeling weak, you slumped to sit on the floor, leaning against a toilet stall. You forced yourself to focus on the comforting feel of the cool metal behind you rather than think about the cleanliness level of the floor. While you sat there, scraps of memories from the previous night shifted in your mind like thoughts in a pensieve. A memory of Sam drunkenly speaking to Dean on the phone comes into focus for just an instant before fading back into your gray matter fog. "Sam, what did you mean when you said you took Dean's advice last night?"

Sam spit his mouth clean and turned. "Oh, um, he said to do what he'd do."

"Oh." Dean, who was a hook-up artist. So that's all it was supposed to be . . . a hook-up just like you said. Well at least you had the right word. _Great. Just Great. Fuck me . . . Haha. Apparently not._ You started throwing up again before the conversation can continue. You were heaving so hard you thought your head might explode from the pressure coupled with all the cotton balls and rock people stuffed inside your skull and sinus passages.

For a long while, you and Sam just sat on the bathroom floor near each other heaving or recovering and not speaking. Then, Sam pointed to the medicine cabinet and working together, you got to the box of various prescription pills. You found some for anti-nausea pills made out to a Samuel Clemens and took one. Sam did the same. You didn't even have the energy to laugh over his alias.

After swallowing the pills, you gave Sam a towel too and slung a bathrobe over him for a blanket before curling up near the next toilet with a towel-pillow and the blanket from Sam's room. Your mind barely registered that Sam was only in his boxer briefs, a sight which normally could have put you on the floor on its own. Part of you wanted to squeeze Sam's hand again before moving off and part of you felt too shitty. You both lay there next to each other but facing away while the pills did their work. You could feel the cold under you and a slight warmth behind you, but it all was muffled by the turmoil inside you.

This wasn't right. None of this was right. None of it felt the way it should feel. Nothing about this moment was what you or any other sane person wanted. Cold, shaking, and miserable you and Sam passed out, separated by inches and miles.

* * *

Dean found you both an hour or so later and after a few tense moments of being scared out of his mind when neither of you were in your rooms. Dean got Cas to help him get you both cleaned up and back to your own beds. Cas also cleared up the worst of the hangovers at Dean's request so at least you wouldn't wake up in your own vomit or with splitting headaches again.

Sam woke a little when Dean was getting him out of what remained of his dirty clothes and into his bed. Dean had taken the time to remake the bed first, since Sam's sheets smelled like vomit, sweat, and charred flannel. Sam muttered something about needing space, so Dean gave him a couple gallons of Gatorade, tucked him in, and left, thinking Sam was talking to him. Sam, of course, barely knew Dean was there. He couldn't stop obsessing over the last thing you said to him.

* * *

When you woke up, you were fairly confused as well. You saw your own Gatorade gallons beside the bed and drank from one of them for a few minutes to clear your head, that didn't hurt, but still felt strange. Nothing felt real or right. You heard you phone going off and saw it was Charlie calling.

"Charlie?"

"Hey! How did it go?

Her voice sounded _very_ loud. "A little softer and slower please."

Charlie lowered her voice. "Sure, sorry. Pretty hung-over, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess. I remember being a lot worse earlier."

"How did things go after you talked to me?"

"I'm not sure. The memories are coming back in flashes . . . out of order. I'm still working on a chain of events. I _think_ Sam and I were all over each other at the bar, and then I _think_ we made out in my car. I'm pretty sure Dean had to pick us up because we were plastered."

"Did anything happen back at the bunker?"

"I'm not real sure. I don't _think_ so." You rubbed your head, trying to remember and notice you're naked. "I don't know. Charlie . . . something happened. My clothes are gone."

"What?"

"But when I woke up the first time, I had some clothes."

"The first time?"

"It's starting to come back. I just woke up. Again."

"Again?"

"Yeah. The first time I woke up I was in Sam's room, and my clothes were half off, but I don't remember how they got that way. I think we passed out after we got home. I found Sam, who is super hung over too by the way, when I was throwing up in the bathroom. Then we passed out on the floor. I'm still not sure how I got to Sam's room, but now I'm in my bed and all my clothes are gone. And I'm not sure how that happened either."

"Is that good?"

"No idea."

"Is Sam with you now?"

You look around your room, checking the floor as well to be sure. You laughed bitterly. "Not on any level, Char. Earlier, when we were in the bathroom, puking-which was really hot let me tell you-Sam was acting like us almost having _yet another_ drunk hook up is no big deal."

"That's weird."

"I know. I have no idea what to do, but maybe Sam and I need to just tone things down a little or something."

"Did he say that?"

"No. _I_ said that." And Sam didn't disagree. " _I_ can't do this. I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"You're just hung-over."

"NO; I can't go from one minute we're just friends, to awkward, to normal, to flirting, to hooking up only when we get hammered. It's too confusing, and I don't know what the hell _this_ is, but I feel like my emotions keep getting yanked all over the scale. I feel like I know less about what I am doing than I did a week ago."

"But you know what you want."

You took a deep breath because the truth was right there, but you didn't like the taste. "I do . . . and it isn't _this_. I know the first night getting a little drunk and hooking was my game plan, not his, but now it's happened again. Twice feels like a pattern, and I don't _want_ this pattern. I don't _want_ to _only_ have Sam when we're hammered. I don't _want_ to wake up feeling like shit afterwards. That's not how things are supposed to go." _Not again. Not with Sam._

Charlie heaved a sigh over the phone. "Is it possible that you're unfairly projecting pop culture expectations for romance onto this situation? Because that's never going to work. For starters, you live in the same 'house' sort of. I mean clearly, Sam is getting over whatever aversion we thought he had to things moving quickly. He's used to road life and things happen fast when you have limited time. Maybe Sam was just worried before because he thought you wouldn't want things to move at that pace, because that's not how things move for most people. Maybe Sam wanted things to move slower with you because you're not some random person, but he adjusted because that's how things are going between you. Maybe you need to find a way to work with the way things _are_ too rather than trying to fit them into some romantic ideal. Maybe you need to loosen up and talk to Sam. Let him know what's on your mind and see what happens."

You close your eyes, and it's like a prayer. You want to believe her so badly, but it can't get you past this sinking fear inside your heart, reaching up to choke you. "I _can't_ Charlie. I _can't_ hear Sam tell me this is no big deal. I _can't_ hear him tell me I'm making too big a deal out of this. If I am, maybe this doesn't matter to him like it does to me. I _can't_ just fuck everything up further . . . I _can't_ risk losing him entirely." Your voice breaks and drifts off. You can hardly think through the pain. "Look Charlie, I don't know if I need apple pie level romance, but _this_ isn't enough. Maybe with some nice, random guy it would be fine, but this isn't what I want with _Sam_. I want someone that would tell me how he feels and tell me he needs me and ask me on a date when he's sober. I need a guy that can kiss me without a few drinks. I don't want to keep waking up feeling like shit in bed with someone that matters trying to figure out how to act or what to say. It feels too much like being trapped in some hipster existential twenty-something crisis, and I don't want that to be _my story_. You're right. We have more time with each other than most of the people we meet, and I think we both need to take some of that time now."

Charlie can't help but feel you're wrong about how Sam feels, but she has no proof, so she sighs, hearing how tired you are and giving in. "Maybe you're right. Take a few months and let things reset. Then see what happens. If it's meant to be, something will give."

"It'll have to." You agree and close the phone mumbling something about getting food.

* * *

You stay in your room that day and the next, not wanting to deal with anyone. Kevin texted you around meal times, and you told him you weren't feeling well and needed to rest. Kevin texted you when he left food by your door, but followed your wishes.

Four days later, Sam has been spending most of his waking hours trying to focus on the research project he was on before you went out to shoot pool. He found a few more shootings that fit the pattern, but, mostly, he can barely concentrate. He looks up every time anyone comes into the room and slumps his shoulders every time it's not you. Kevin tries to reassure him it's not personal. You're just feeling under the weather, and mutters platitudes about the building being drafty, but Cas's tight lipped non-committal sounds he makes when Kevin says things like that, don't help Sam believe a word Kevin says no matter how much he wants to. It's like Cas is saying all too clearly that it's completely personal, and he would never have done such an incomplete healing on you, especially when it was such an easy job to cure a hangover-something you would have recovered from on your own eventually- as opposed to a stab wound. After awhile, Sam just shakes his head at Kevin whenever it looks like Kevin's about to try to smooth things over and Kevin stops trying.

* * *

Around the same time, you're starting to hate your own smell and decide to venture out for a shower and clean your sheets at least. You don't run into anyone on the way to the shower, and you're grateful for it. You're not ready for other humans . . . _any_ other humans.

You scrub yourself as hard as you can, trying to get off that feeling of wrongness that you've haven't been able to escape since the first time you woke up hung-over in Sam's room. Cas might have cleaned off the physical residue, but you felt like your skin wasn't your own. As you're scrubbing, you have a memory flash of the feel of Sam's hands playing over your belly and hip while you lie in his bed. It's not clear which night the memory is from, but in that moment it's so real that Sam could be in the shower with you. One memory in this vein flows to another until it's a stream of them playing in your mind like an old film reel: jerky and slightly unfocused, but beautiful somehow.

You can almost feel him, pressed against your back, his right hand soaping up your breasts while his left slides over your hip and between your legs, threading through curls soaked from water and thoughts of Sam. You imagine feeling his cock against your soap-covered backside as you imagine Sam's finger finding your clit, and your hand moves with purpose. You imagine Sam starting to pull you closer, thrusting himself against you while he moves his hand faster, dipping inside to where you ache for him every few strokes. You feel the tension vibrating off your skin as the tension builds, setting your teeth on edge. Your breath comes in pants and gasps, and you lean against the side of the shower, imagining the solid tile, warmed by the water, is Sam, cradling you, working you closer and closer to the edge with his deft fingers. The water streams down your body from the shower head in this new position in such a way that it flows over your finger tips adding more pressure and friction to your lips and clit. Stroke after stroke your vision blurs, your legs start to jerk, and you start whispering Sam's name into the moisture-laden air, a bargain, a plea, a prayer. "Please Sam, please, please . . . I'm sorry. I need-." You press harder, your strokes speeding up further, circling your clit over and over picturing Sam, your Sam, touching you the way you need him to, rubbing the edge off all the tension you've been carrying. A rough groan in the form of Sam's name bursts from your lips, and you slide down to the floor of the shower until you can feel your legs again.

* * *

After an orgasm that leaves you having to sit at the bottom of the shower for awhile, you recover enough to walk back to your room. You're so happily consumed by replaying recovered thoughts of the last night you spent with Sam in your mind again, and how good it felt finally letting off some of that tension in the shower that you don't even see Sam until you run smack dab into him. It's like hitting an electric fence and drains the color from your face the way being smacked with reality unexpectedly tends to do. "Sam!" You squeak. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm fine. Just fine. No questions. Nothing to see. Gotta go."

Dean was not far behind and witnessed the interaction, stopping to talk to Sam. "Yeesh. Man, is she acting screwy." He hadn't been able to get much out of Sam about the parts he'd missed after he 'dropped you off' in Sam's room. Not that it was his business, but if the tension in the bunker was going to feel like being suspended in jello, he'd like to know why.

Sam nodded, dumbfounded. _Could she be avoiding me any harder? Cas said she's barely been out of bed until this morning . . . she hasn't even come out of her room for food or looked for . . . anyone. She can't even look me in the eye . . . She looked liked she was **so** embarrassed . . ._

"If I didn't know better," Dean continued, effectively derailing Sam's train of through, "I'd think she was pregnant."

Sam shot Dean a dark look. "Oh yeah, you're hilarious, Dean. She's not pregnant."

"Oh yeah? How much of the other night do you remember?"

"I remember _not_ having sex, Dean, that much is crystal clear."

Dean shrugged. "Sucks to be you. Then again, maybe you didn't get as far as sucking. Did you even get as far as getting your clothes off?"

"Sort of." Sam muttered in bitter dejection. "Look, I don't want to talk about it, Dean. She needs a break. I'm giving her a break."

"Did she say that?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Sam looks so impossibly small as he says that one word that seems to just take all the bones out of his massive frame.

"Look, I was thinking about making meatloaf for dinner. See if you can get her to venture out to eat for a change."

"Dean . . ."

Sam's puppy eyes are enormous, but Dean holds his ground. "I'm not saying you should do anything besides invite her to stop hiding out in her room. You're adults. You both live here. Maybe you both need to take a break, reset things, and start over. There _is_ obviously something between you two, but maybe you _do_ need to give it some space to breathe and just see how things go."

Sam nods listlessly.

* * *

A couple hours later, he heads back to your room to get you for dinner. He brings your hair clip too, thinking it will give you both a little more to talk about if the conversation tanks. He hears music as he comes down the hallway, something in the vein of the record collection left in the bunker. As he gets closer, he can hear the words:

_Goodnight my love, the tired old moon is descending. Goodnight my love, my moment with you now is ending. It was so heavenly, holding you close to me, it will be heavenly to hold you again in a dream. The stars above have promised to meet us tomorrow, 'til then, my love, how dreary the new day will seem, so for the present dear, we'll have to part, sleep tight my love, goodnight my love, Remember that you're my sweetheart._

When Sam recovers from the lyrics, he knocks on your door.

"Yeah?"

"It's Sam. Can I come in?"

"Um, sure?"

Sam comes in to your room, forcing a smile. "I have no offerings. Sorry."

You force a smile back. "That's ok. I'm already awake."

"I wasn't sure. You've been keeping odd hours lately."

"Yeah." Your tone is distracted, noncommittal. It's not as thought you can explain why to Sam.

Sam points to your speakers, trying to restart the conversation. "Ella Fitzgerald?"

"Yeah. I was feeling nostalgic, going through some old journals."

“I have your hair clip.”

“I was starting to wonder where that was. I was going to check the Impala later today.”

“It was in my sheets.”

“Ah. Thanks. I wouldn’t have thought to look there. So you woke me up to bring it back?”

“Actually, I wanted to tell you there’s meatloaf ready if you’re hungry. Haven't seen you out for meals for awhile."

“Yeah, I got to reading . . . I needed to hunt up some old notes in my room to add to our archives and make sure there’s nothing problematic mixed in with them. Then I was going to organize the journals and notes and log them into storage. Next time Charlie visits, we can use them to try out her handwriting recognition software.”

"Sounds good. So you coming to dinner?"

"Yeah, maybe. In a bit." Your eyes are back at the book in your hands. You can't look at him anymore, or you'll break.

Sam nods, but you don't see that or the slump of his shoulders or the hurt in his eyes. But somehow you can feel it anyway, and you can't hurt Sam no matter how you're hurting.

"Sorry." You force another smile. "I guess I have been really work-consumed and anti-social lately. Is dinner ready now?"

Sam forces himself to look like he's not pained by having to convince you to come to dinner with the rest of them . . . with him. "Yeah. Dean said there are garlic smashed potatoes too." At one time, you being consumed with work would have been cute and persuading you to stop to eat would have been fun and playful, but the words felt like chalk dust now.

You hate how hard this is. You hate that you're reluctant to be around Sam right now. You have to get past this. "Yummo. Let me mark my spot a sec."

There's palpable tension all the way to the kitchen, but neither of you wants to address it. At this point, whether you know it or not, you and Sam are on the exact same page: terrified to shatter things further.

* * *

Dinner goes as well as it can, but afterwards, things pretty much go back to the way they've been the last few days. You try to not hide out in your room constantly, but you _are_ avoiding Sam a little, just to make it easier on yourself. It feels easier to do research and focus on details than to be in the same room with Sam. Sam is working case research too whenever he's awake, but you stay in your room or the storage archives, and he sticks to the library. It's easier to think about Sam in general when he's not around. The clash between the way you wish things were and the way they are is like grating glass when you look at him.

Taking a break from hunting with Sam and Dean where things would feel even more awkward is easier than you thought it would be. At first, you blame being in the middle of a research project and the case is small, they don't need you along. You all agreed that you aren't allowed to hunt during your period so your scent won't attract unwanted attention, so that's another reason for another hunt. Then you can't go because you need to take care of Kevin while he translates. Kevin might take care of you when you're on girl time, but you do that for him the other weeks of the month when translating leaves him weak and exhausted or so tired he can't make canned soup. You even took Kevin on a trip to see his mom to avoid another hunt.

Sam starts avoiding you too when he's at the bunker. It's too hard watching the way you can't look him in the eyes most of the time, and when you do, it's worse. He can't stand seeing you clearly unhappy and trying to pretend otherwise.

* * *

Months pass.

* * *

You try to keep things friendly and normal when you see Sam, but you still spend a fair amount of time in your room, watching _Buffy_ and _Big Bang Theory,_ like it can fill the raw gaping space you feel where your bones used to be. There are hours of crying through sad songs and replaying things with Sam in your head like a track on endless repeat. There are times you just can't feel anything, and that's when you venture out, because you can't look at Sam and think about how messed up things are unless you're numb.

The nights are the worst. You're not sure what kicked them off, but you're having nightmares lately, so that your sleep never feels restful no matter how long you stay in bed. Either the nightmares disturb your sleep or you're afraid they will. It amounts to the same thing.

“Sam!” You woke up calling for him. You thought you saw your door quiver as if someone had nearly opened it, but no one came in. Another nightmare. Sam was always the first person you called for when you were scared and not thinking. It was an instinct. You knew he would protect you if he could. Dean would too of course, but Sam was the one you thought of as your protector. Sometimes, when you had nightmares (before everything went to hell) Sam would hear you call out for him like you just had and come in, wake you up and tell you it was all right. But Sam wasn't in the bunker at the moment. He was on the road with Dean . . . without you. If you were with them, you'd be sharing a bed with Sam, like usual: him under the covers and you next to him in your sleeping bag. If you had a nightmare then, Sam would whisper assurances and hold you until you fell back to sleep. It was hard not seeing the faces of the people you’d loved and lost some nights, but these nightmares were different. You couldn't see anyone specific, nothing was familiar, the only constant is that you were terrified and running and when you woke up you were shaking. They mostly seemed to happen when Sam was away, but you weren't sure Sam would come now even if he was working late in the library where he could hear you call out.

* * *

About three months later, Dean and Kevin are starting to go crazy trying to ignore the bunker drama, but they're trying to stay out of it and let you two work it out. They figure at this point that they've been interfering enough, so Dean vents to Castiel and Kevin vents to Charlie.

After a particularly repetitive and circular conversation with you, Kevin took his phone to an old storage closet for privacy and called Charlie. "Sam's acting like all he wants us to be is sex friends. Sam's acting like I've got the plague. Sam's blah, blah, blah. Charlie, I just want to lock them in a room and make them figure it out."

"I know. This all seems pretty crazy, but I guess we just have to wait it out. I mean we've given advice, and she's following it, but that doesn't mean it's easy."

"I know."

"On the upside, if there's still this much drama, I think chances are they'll figure things out at some point."

"If they don't figure it out in a few more months, can I come live with you?"

"Months? You sure you can make it that long?"

"No, but I prefer optimism. They need a case. They need to get back on the road and work a case together as a team and get over this awkward crap."

"I wish you monsters."

"Thanks?"

"May the Force be with you, Kevin Solo."

"Thanks Charlie Skywalker."

* * *

Meanwhile Dean was having a similar venting session with Castiel in the Impala. “What the hell is wrong with them Cas? This is freakin' ridiculous, man!"

"I find it most frustrating as well, Dean.”

"I just feel responsible. I told him to go for it when they went out to play pool, and it just made things worse. I'm staying out of it for now. What do I know about relationships anyway?"

Castiel who had many thoughts on Dean's understanding of relationships and the specifics of what was going on in the bunker, kept his mouth shut. As you had told him many times, using his Jedi mind tricks was rude and unfair, but it was a shame, as it would make things much easier to stop playing by the elaborate and confounding courtship rules humans had.

* * *

Another month later, you’re sitting there in the library trying to do research with Sam, Kevin, and Dean, and the tension is thicker than Greek coffee dregs. Kevin keeps looking up, glaring between you and Sam and then back to his book, eventually heading back to the stacks.

You're trying to focus, you really are, but Sam is only a few feet away, and he smells perfect: like fabric softener and sandalwood, and the bite of sweat. At one point, the words in front of your eyes blur away and leave you with an image of Sam, his fingers stroking smoothly between your legs, driving into you, curling . . . it feels so real . . .

You fall out of your daydream with a sharp inhale. Your eyes clear, and you can see Sam looking at you, his expression curious, but there’s pain in his eyes too. You make an excuse about needing to wake up and walk towards the stacks and finding Kevin.

Kevin mutters in your ear. “So how is _not_ getting over Sam going?”

“Awesome. I could be jumping in front of a train any day now.” Your voice sounds as rough as you feel.

“You both look miserable by the way.”

“You know why I’m feeling . . . .” You searched for a word that encompassed feeling raked-out-inside-by-squirrels.

“Morbidly self-destructive? Depressed?” Kevin offered.

“Something like that. And Sam looks miserable because he feels guilty for not being clear about wanting to keep things light, and he’s avoiding me. Guilt can make you look miserable. I mean, think about Dean. He is the mayor of guilt city. He looks miserable unless he’s hunting monsters or hook-ups.”

“True, though it's been awhile since Dean was hunting for skirt.”

"Sam has nothing to feel guilty about anyway." You glance through a space in the books at Sam and sigh heavily, thinking about a time not so long ago when you were planning to hunt Sam. "It's not his fault I feel like this."

Kevin growls impatiently. "I swear if you sigh dreamily just one more time thinking about your 'person of affection' without _actually_ _doing_ anything about it, I will tie you two together by your hair until you sort things out!"

* * *

While you talked to Kevin, Dean poked Sam in the ribs on their side of the table. “Come on man, say _something_ to her. She’s starting to remind me of a an angsty teenager.”

“What am I going to say, Dean? What words are gonna fix this? She’s avoiding me because she feels embarrassed and regrets what happened. She just wants us to be friends, and I'm not sure how to do that anymore.”

“So here’s a wild crazy experiment to try: try being her friend again like everything's fine. If she starts to seem fine, you’re right, but if she’s into you, and you two are having the mother of all miscommunication, she’ll still look like a cast member of _Dawson’s Creek_.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know, she'll still be all super emo, like you.”

“Fine, but only if you’ll stop bugging me about it."

* * *

For another month, Sam starts acting like everything is fine, so it's easier for you to do the same and pretend. Inside, you’re both still dying, but now only Cas can tell easily because he can sense it. You both, naturally, think the other is acting fine because you're relieved that everything is "back to normal" and all the craziness has been erased. That idea leaves both of you more upset because if someone can so easily go back to acting like nothing happened, maybe it really didn't mean anything to the other person. Only Cas knows, that you and Sam are actually seriously-overlooked-but-nevertheless-Oscar-worthy actors. Dean shares Kevin's opinion that what you all really need is a case to put things back on keel, whatever that means now.

* * *

One day in September, when the boys are out on a hunting trip, and Kevin is just recopying some notes, Garth calls and asks for your help on a case. Thinking you could use some time outside the bunker and a trip with one of your first hunting partners, you head out trying to get back into the swing of things.

When Dean and Sam come back and ask where you are, Kevin tells them.

Sam doesn't say a word, but his face gets a pained look, and he heads off, saying something about needing a shower.

"That's not all he needs . . ." Dean mutters when Sam's out of earshot. Then when he's sure Sam is gone, he rounds on Kevin. "What the hell is up with her, Kev? She spends _months_ avoiding us, hunting, Sam, and then we're gone for a couple days and when we come back, she's on a hunt with _Garth_! The bunker ain't a way station. Is she going back to hunting with him?"

Kevin took a minute to recover from the shock of Dean's outburst. "What? No! She's just trying to get things back to normal. I think she figured hunting with Garth would be like hitting reset before she tries hunting with you guys again. Sam's not the only one having a tough time, you know."

Dean huffed out a breath. "Yeah, I know. I'm worried about her too. I don't like the idea of her hunting like this, and Garth's not exactly . . ."

"Yeah, he's not you or Sam. I get it, but they were a great team for awhile before you two came along. She'll be fine."

"I know. I just hate this . . . this _bullshit_ . . . Is she ok, otherwise?"

"I think so." Kevin replied carefully, trying not to divulge any confidences. "Look, she hasn't said this to me yet, but I think current events have just brought up some things from her past . . . and it's sort of spinning her perspective on all this. She'll get on top of it though. Just give her some time. How about Sam?"

Dean shrugs. "He's working it through. I think he just misses her, really."

Kevin nods. "I think She misses him too, but she's not ready."

"She better get ready soon or I'm gonna-"

"Tie them together by their hair until they work it out?"

"Yeah."

"Already threatened that."

"Fine; I'll chain them up in the dungeon."

"Nice one."

* * *

 

When you come back, they're all acting like it was fine that you went out hunting with Garth, but you can tell even Dean seems upset. You make dinner for everyone including an "I'm sorry" maple pumpkin pecan pie with whiskey shortbread crust that you know Dean will love. "It wasn't the same hunting without you guys." You assure them. "Garth just needed a hand and you two were out. Next case we catch, I'm in. I didn't realize how much I missed it while I was off practicing being a librarian."

Sam smiles a little and eats some pie.

Dean levels a look at you that you can tell is part satisfaction and part warning. "Good."

* * *

Of course, there are those moments when no one in the bunker can ignore the tension between you and Sam whether they think it's lust, hurt feelings, or more.

It's another day in the library, and Sam’s dreaming at his chair while you all research a case. In his dream, you wake him up and everyone else has gone to bed. You're wearing one of his plaid shirts that looks more like a dress on you and that’s it.

"Sa-am." Your voice sings out. "I've was waiting in your bed for you . . ."

"You were?"

"Naked."

"Really?"

"Really. But you didn't come to bed. I've been waiting for hours for you."

"I'm sorry."

You place a finger over his lips. "Shush. I decided I was done waiting, Sam. I didn’t want anyone else to see me like that, but you, Sam, so I grabbed your shirt and came to find you."

"I see that. Is that, um, all you're wearing?"

You turn around slowly so he can see all the shirt covers . . . and doesn't. "Come find out."

Sam grabs your hips, his fingers skating up under the shirt while you undo his belt and pants. You kiss Sam's mouth while pulling his pants to his knees along with his underwear. You kneel in front of him, taking his cock in your hands and then into your mouth, while his fingers stroke your hair and face. Before he knows it, Sam's coming down your eager throat while he tugs at your hair lightly. You lick him clean while you smile up at him. Then you climb into Sam's lap, rubbing yourself against his cock so he can feel how soaked you are from pleasuring him while he ravishes your mouth. Sam tears his borrowed shirt open, revealing you fully and licks and sucks at your breasts and neck until he’s hard again while you rub against him harder, pulling off his shirts and begging for him.

"Sam, please, Sam . . . I need you. I've always needed you . . . Please Sam, please. I can't wait any more."

Sam holds you against him with one arm and clears off a spot on the library table with another. He’s about to slide into you while you beg him to take you on the table . . .

Sam jerks in his seat, shaking the table, and waking with a startled curse. “Damn it!”

You and Kevin stare at him a minute while Sam looks at you horrified. Then Dean and Sam have a moment of meaningful eye contact.

Kevin chuckles, and he gets back his reading. “Did the rabbit get away, Sam?”

Sam rubs his hand over his face. “Uh . . . yeah. Something like that.” He replies hoarsely.

Dean snickers. “Sounded like you almost had it in your teeth.”

“Shut up, Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

You smile at them all fondly and go back to reading. You imagined Sam having a dream about chasing rabbits and making the whimpering noises like a dog and while the image was freakin’ adorable, that was not how the noises he’d made had sounded. They’d sounded _hot_. Really hot. Hot enough that you were glad he’d woken up because you were starting to shift in your seat, trying to ease the desire to climb into Sam's lap and rub right against him.

 _Oh shit he's giving me a funny look. I've been staring. Be cool,_ you tell yourself. _Just smile that slightly embarrassed smile and shake your head like you’re clearing it, like you weren’t just thinking about Sam and rutting against him like a bitch in heat. Crap. I'm still staring._ You manage a really awkward version of smiling and refocusing, but Sam seems to buy it.

You notice Castiel giving you a pointed stare. ' _Castiel, I know you can hear me thinking right now. You listen to me you, meddling, Jedi angel, if you tell Sam what is going on in my head right now, you will need more than gas station comforts and pie to fix it._ '

Sam heads out of the room shortly thereafter saying something about going to look for some old case files to cross reference. Dean snickers knowingly. Then he sees the look on your face as you watch Sam leave the room like a man on a mission. He catches your gaze and smirks. "You are looking at my brother like you want to make a meal out of him. Now either you got turned into some sort of succubus on that last hunt with Garth, or you're looking to get Sam to renew your dragon repellent."

You turn your book page with an almost bored expression. "Dean, I've had more than enough sex before I even came to live here to make sure no dragon outside of Dreamworks ever even notices me. As far as their virgin radar is concerned, I'm a ninja."

"A ninja that clearly wants to jump my brother."

"Mine your own business, Dean."

Dean's smirk vanishes, and he shakes his head grimly. "I'm trying to, but this bunker isn't that big."

* * *

A few more hours and Sam glances around the table. "Well, I think we definitely have a case."

You look up at Sam. "You find another instance of a shooting with an atypical gunman, gunperson, whatever?"

"Yeah. And I've got enough of a pattern to think I've found another town where it's happening again."

"How far?"

"Alanson, MI; about 13 hours. It's minor stuff happening now. People acting out of character, that sort of thing. Like a teacher stealing school trip money . . . a tow trucker stealing a car he was supposed to fix . . . that sort of thing, but based on the pattern that won't last."

 _Thank goodness. That is exactly what you all needed: a case. Your version of normal._ You looked over at Kevin. "You OK if I go with them on this one? It seems like a complex one, and I'd like to be along to help out."

Kevin tries to hide his relief. "Absolutely. I'll spend some time with Talia."

"I will keep an eye on Kevin from time to time." Castiel offers.

"Thanks, Cas." You start packing up your notes. "OK. I'll get my things and be ready in an hour?"

Sam nods while he gathers some books together and puts them in his bag, then closes his laptop.

"I'll get us something to eat before we hit the road so we don't have to stop for awhile." Dean offers, and you all nod. Dean always has a bag ready to go, and it's better if he has a job so he doesn't drive you and Sam crazy while you both gather the research materials together. Plus, you hadn't had a chance to repack your "hunter's ready to go" bag since you last cleaned it out so you could use the time.

* * *

Kevin follows you to your room, helping you get ready so you don't keep the boys waiting. "It's gonna be fine." He assures you. "You're all great at hunting. And doing something familiar and together will be good for _all_ of you." You know he means you and Sam. "It's a common goal to focus on outside of your stuff."

You nod. "And to paraphrase Buffy, 'The great thing about being a hunter: kicking ass is comfort food.'"

Kevin gives you a hearty pat on the shoulder. "There you go. Go hunt some things and save some people."

You give him a big hug. "Ten-four, Kevin Solo. Call if you need anything."

"I promise, Padmé."

* * *

Sam checked and rechecked his bag, absently eating the sandwich Dean made. It would be fine. A hunt was just the thing to sort it all out. There wasn't room in the Impala for three people and an elephant, so things would have to shake out. They had to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took forever, and sorry for the harsh plot twist. Working on 12 and 13 right now. Please let me know how you liked this chapter. It took a lot of revising.


	12. Rocky Road to Dublin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to almost six months ago in March, Kevin sits you down for a heart to heart to get a better idea of why you're hiding out from Sam; then flashforward to November when you are starting out on your first hunt with the boys and the first time you and Sam have really been around each other since March. Tensions are high, but more than anything, you and Sam want to find a way to get back to normal and Dean and Cas (and Kevin by phone) will do everything they can to help you.
> 
> Warnings: Angst, maybe swearing, MAJOR sexual tension & innuendo, shameless teasing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is reader backstory at the beginning of this chapter. It's necessary to explain why I structured things they way I did. I tried to keep the backstory as general as possible intentionally figuring that a lot of others have been in similar situations. It's funny how the life events that can make us feel more alone, are often the ones that are the most connected to common human experience.
> 
> Also, let me know if you catch the many, many references . . . one is from Buffy.
> 
> Image credit:
> 
> Supernatural Screen Caps
> 
> Screencapped.net: Supernatural
> 
> Acknowledgements: Thanks to Spectaculacular-Sammy for being my sounding board (especially on the next few chapters that were very emotional to work on) and for helping me find images. Her writing is awesome and you should definitely check it out here

EARLIER

 ** _♪_** _Bring On The Wonder_ by Susan Enan ** _♪_**

**__ **

**_♪_ ** _I can't see the stars anymore living here; Let's go to the hills where the outlines are clear_

_Bring on the wonder, Bring on the song; I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long **;** I fell through the cracks at the end of our street; Let's go to the beach, get the sand through our feet **;** Bring on the wonder, Bring on the song; I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long; Bring on the wonder, We got it all wrong; We pushed you down deep in our souls for too long **♪**_

At the beginning of the second week of your self-imposed exile, Kevin craftily snuck into your room while you were out foraging for food in the middle of the night. When you came back, you found him fiddling with your TV.

"Kevin, what are you doing?"

"You and I are going to watch Disney movies, and I will tell you about my date with Talia that I had _last week_. If you have anything _you_ want to tell _me,_ I am here to listen to that too." Kevin held up a six-pack of glass Coke bottles, grinning.

You smile shutting your door. "You don't want to get me started, Kev. I might not shut up for awhile."

Kevin smiled, sitting on your bed and patting the spot beside him. "Yeah, I know. It's all part of my devious plot."

You sit back on your bed, trying to relax. "Sam sent me a text earlier. He said they went on a hunt."

"Yeah, what did you tell them to get out of that by the way?"

You shrug. "I said if it was alright, I wanted to stay home and work on translating some journals, to keep my skills sharp."

Kevin nods and puts in _The_ _Emperors' New Groove_. "I see. And did they buy that _enormous_ load of crap?"

You shrug. "Probably not, but they let me get away with it."

"You wanna tell me about your date with Sam?"

"Nope." Your eyes stay fixed on the Disney logo forming on your screen.

"You wanna tell me why you're avoiding everyone?"

"Nope."

"Look, here's the deal: you tell me what's going on in your head, and I will do my best to help you sort it out and cover with the guys if that's what you need, on one condition." He waits to make sure he has your undivided attention. "You can't completely avoid them while you work this through, whatever it is. You need to come out of this room when they get home and interact, even if it's minimally."

"You're right. I will." You close your eyes, guilt clutching your heart like a fist. "I'm sorry. It's not like I don't want to be around him-them."

Kevin impulsively took your hand and gave it a squeeze. "I know it's hard, but can you at least _try_ to tell me what's been going through your head?"

You expected it to take more of a push, but it doesn't It's a testament to how often you have been there for Kevin when he's broken himself over that tablet that you break so easily now. "I can't even tell you how hard it is to _try_ and explain it to you _and I know you._ I trust you, but I just . . . I don't know how to explain what's going on in my head without seeming like this neurotic, insecure, needy bat-crap crazy person repeating myself like a lunatic on a break . . . And I am _terrified_ that I am going chase you all  away. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose Charlie. I don't want to lose Dean or Cas . . . or Sam. I'm so afraid sometimes that I'm too much of a mess for anyone to want to bother with helping. I mean it's worse during shark week, but let's face it: I feel like there's a part of me that's _never_ okay. Most of the time, I don't even feel it, but it's there, like this splinter in my heart, and if I move the wrong way it cuts into me, and I start hemorrhaging feelings. NO ONE want to be around the crazy girl. So I figured I'd sort out my shit like a grown-ass woman without subjecting any of you to it, especially . . .  the boys, and then go from there."

Kevin gives you a sharp look and nudges you. "Hey. _I_ am your friend, and I am not going anywhere and neither is Charlie and not just because, especially in my case, you are one of only five friends. And while we're on the subject, I don't think that Cas or Dean _or Sam_ are going to desert you either. They just don't know what the hell is going on with you. Why would you think we wouldn't want to be there for you?"

You press your lips together for awhile. "Because I've been in this sort of situation before −more than once actually− where I went through something huge, and I tried to let my friends be there for me. Eventually, they all got sick of listening to me, and they left. And then there's my spectacularly awful luck with guy friends. So _no_ , I don't want to talk about anything."

"Remember when you first came here? You had like one friend in the world, and you were leaving him to help me translate the tablets."

"I do. I would have been lost without you. I mean when I met Garth, I was hunting alone. When he told me he had some hunter friends that needed help on a translation project that was important to saving the world . . . it felt like the right thing to do." You opened your soda, relaxing a little.

"You and I were living in each other's pockets back then."

"Pretty much. I was so thrown. I mean, I'm usually so independent and outspoken . . . fearless. I met Dean and thought 'hey, this is a guy I can throw back a drink with after tough hunt as long as I keep an eye on him,' but he didn't make me nervous. He's just _that_ _guy_. And you were clearly awesome and brilliant . . . then there was Sam."

Kevin chuckled, drinking a little from his Coke. "He used to _really_ freak you out, didn't he? I forgot that." He was careful not to use Sam's name and spook you now that he _finally_ had you talking.

You laughed too, nodding. "For like a month. He was just so overwhelmingly _my type,_ I could barely remember my name when he was around. I avoided being anywhere that he might catch me alone. Finally, we were up late doing casework and just got to talking. He was this amazing amalgamation of all the guys I ever was into. I couldn’t keep my distance, but I tried for awhile not to feel anything for him but friendship . . . I’m not blind, though. It was impossible to not be attracted to him, but I convinced myself that’s all it was . . . just attraction and friendship. I was still ok until I realized I felt more. Then I felt not only the pressure to figure out how much more I felt and if I wanted to do something about it, but also the _weight_ of what I was risking. I guess I figured if _I_ knew how _he_ felt and what _he_ wanted, I could make my decision from this 'safe space' so I wouldn’t freak out, but I realized as soon as I woke up the next day that I was _way past_ the safe line, and I panicked."

"So what's going on with you since you and Sam have. . . spent the night together a couple times?"

“I’m not sure I can explain it all to you. When I'm here in my room, it's quiet. I'm alone, and I can think rationally. Waking up with Sam or even just seeing him in the bunker . . . it just reminds me of every other time I've woken up with someone I care about, and how all those other times have gone. I have this panic attack -the memories, the feelings rush at me like water through a hole in a dam- and it catches me off guard because most of the time I feel fine. Then . . .  _things_ _happened_ with Sam. Now, even when I just _see_ him . . . It’s paralyzing. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. All I want to do is _run_ , and _all I can do to stop myself_ is hide. I can’t find some eloquent way to explain myself. Mostly, _I_ can’t even tell _why_ I feel how I feel. All I know is how I feel."

"What happened before this with the other guys you cared about?"

"I've had a lot of guy friends, always more guy friends than girlfriends, and until very recently I've lost them _all_. I've lost girlfriends too, but as far as I know that wasn't because of romantic feelings or lack thereof. But guy friends . . . if I'm not into them it's fine, but if I'm into them and they're in to me -even a little- it _always_ goes sideways. Either we don't do anything about it, and I move on romantically, and they leave me. Or we don't do anything about it, and they move on and feel guilty and leave me. Or we do something about it and it falls apart spectacularly, and they leave me. Or we do something about it, and they decide that they're really just not into me 'that way' and they leave me. Do you see a pattern here, Kev? I'm the girl people leave, and I just can't deal with _Sam_ being one of those people. I just can't. Sometimes even the good guys fuck you up trying to 'do right by you.' And sometimes the bad guys think they're good so they're harder to spot. I think Sam's a good guy, but that doesn't mean he wants more with me."

Kevin rubs his thumb over your hand. "Why don't you just talk to him about this?"

"Because I've been down this road before. Honesty is exactly what has murdered all my guy friendships. If I try talking to him about it, there's a chance that either he feels the same way, but doesn't want to do anything about it or he doesn't feel the same way and just wanted us to keep hooking up. Either way, things get super awkward and eventually we just can't stand to be in same place with each other . . . and we don't talk anymore ever and we're not friends . . . Every time I'm around him, I am petrified that I'm going to say the wrong thing and that things are going to get more awful than they are now. I can't, I _don't_ want to hear him tell me that he 'just wants us to be friends' or that 'we had a lot of fun, and we should do it again next time we're stressed out to blow off steam.'"

"Are you sure? Sam seems like he's really into you. I mean when you talk about your interactions lately, you guys seem to have this great chemistry."

"Yeah, but all that 'great chemistry seems' to add up to when we're sober is flirting, and that's it. Basically, all my time with Sam lately has pretty much told me that we are great together when we're drunk and that's it . . . but I don't want to be just another drunk hook up for Sam. If he really wanted me for more than a good time, why does he have to be drunk to make a move? He's faced down monsters, and Sam's no coward. So if he only is making these moves when he's drunk, he can't really want more than friendship, which is fine. Honestly, at this point I'm already getting so sick of feeling all this crap come back up again, I'm not even sure I want more. I think I just want to sort myself out enough to just go back to being friends with him. Sam as my friend means I can keep him. I can handle it if I'm the one who feels more as long as he doesn't know that. I just need some time to get over him and put it behind me, or at the very least, I need to put my feelings back in the ground, where they belong, and get my head out of his pants so I can focus on hunting with him."

Kevin let out an enormous sigh and wrapped an arm around you. "OK. Whatever you need to get through this. I'm in. I still hope you're wrong about what Sam wants, but either way, I think you're probably right about sort of starting over with Sam."

"Cheers to that." You and Kevin clink bottle necks.

"Maybe after that, you can at least tell _him_ about your past, so he understands why his She-Ra-like hunter friend has a gun-shy streak a mile wide."

You look over at Kevin, and you can tell he's teasing you, but he's right too. Sam should know. "OK. Deal. I get my shit sorted out and make things right with Sam and when the time is right, I explain my back-story. Maybe then he'll understand why I'm . . . such a spaz and maybe he won't slowly pension me off."

Kevin nudges you, turning. "I still say Sam won't do that. If for no other reason than because Sam doesn't have many more friends than either of us." He chuckled. "We can't afford to lost what we have."

"That's a little more sad than funny there, Kev."

"Yeah, I guess it is. I'm starting to think that I lucked out having a romantically sheltered life . . . I've had one girlfriend and while that ended . . . horribly, it had nothing to do with anything between me and her."

Kevin's never really talked about a girlfriend before, but there's something in his tone that is all too familiar and it keeps you from asking. You and Kevin always felt like kindred spirits. When he's ready, he'll tell you. "Yeah, I've been there, Kev. Nothing makes that easier."

"No, but my issues from that are not about being abandoned. Here in the bunker, we are _all_ worried about everyone we know getting killed because of what we do or don't do, so at least all my friends _already_ understand my problems."

"You have an really absurdly healthy outlook on things, Kev."

"I know. That's why you're lucky we're friends." You both laughed a little, easing the residual tension.

"You're damn right." You snuggled next to him. "You tell that girl of yours that if she isn't good to you, I'll shave her lovely head of hair."

"A little extreme, don't you think?" Kevin chuckled.

"Compared to the long list of things I could do to show my loyalty, nope. Shaving her head wouldn't be permanent, disfiguring, or lethal."

Kevin inclined his head. "Fair point. Speaking of whom, wanna hear about Talia?"

"Yes. I shall live vicariously through you for now. Tell me Kev, what's dating like when it's not all angst and drama?" While you listened to Kevin talk about his romantic happiness, part of you missed Sam as it did every moment he wasn't around. Even if your isolation was self-imposed, even if being around him sent your 'fight or flight' response into overdrive, even if this was to protect him and your friendship, you knew there wouldn't be a single second while you got your head together that you didn't miss him somewhere inside yourself. But it was worth it. To protect Sam, especially from yourself, no cost was too high.

 _♪I don't have the time for a drink from the cup; Let's rest for a while 'til our souls catch us up; Bring on the wonder, Bring on the song; I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long; Bring on the wonder, We got it all wrong; We pushed you down deep in our souls, so hang on; Bring on the wonder, Bring on the song; I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long._ ♪

 

* * *

 

NOW

♪ _Fast Car_ by Tracy Chapman; _Back in Black_ , _For Those About to Rock (We Salute You),_ & _Shoot to Thrill_ by AD/DC; ♪

Kevin helps carry your bags out since you have more items than arms: clothes, laptop, and your sack o' research materials. Sam helps load up the car. You keep some things with you: your laptop and the bags of research materials. You also grab your compact sleeping bag so you can sleep on the way. You're so tried all the time lately. Dean might let you drive, he knows you can handle a classic, obviously, but mostly it's him and Sam driving and you respect that. It's _their_ _home_. You're part of the team, but you have your own niche. You take care of maps and research and finding cool local eateries to hit. And, of course, on the hunt you scout and fight and gather intelligence. You help patch them up and sort out the survivors.

You remind yourself of what's normal like running through a list. It used to feel natural to sit in the Impala, but as you wave good bye to Kevin, and Dean turns over the engine, you feel off, like you don't quite belong anymore. They can both feel it. You know they can. You've hunted together for too long for it to be otherwise and in the Impala, there's nowhere to hide, not even in your own head when your fellow travelers really know you.

Still, knowing someone is unhappy or feeling out of sync isn't the same thing as knowing why. They both throw you slightly forced half smiles, all of you nervous about hunting with things still so strained, but months in the bunker . . . avoiding hunting with them . . . avoiding too much time with Sam . . . hasn't helped. Maybe the open road and getting back on the job would do the trick. Dean asked you to slide him a tape. You know he probably has one in that he's dying to listen to, but he's asking so you feel included.

You fish through the ancient shoeboxes nearby that are more duct tape than cardboard at this point, lightly clicking the plastic together. "AC/DC? _Back in Black_?"

"You got it, sweetheart." Dean grins back at you in the rearview. "Already in the tape deck."

Sam keeps glancing at you in the rearview when he thinks you're not looking. He wants to do something, say _something_ to ease the tension in the car, but all he can think to do is ask you for research materials from his bag. Finally, when you start to get sleepy, Sam has a chance.

You're trying to get comfortable in the back of the Impala. It's long past dark, and Dean is still driving. You're trying to get comfortable on the bench seat in the back, grumbling. "I remember the backseat being a lot more comfortable the last time I was laying in it."

"So far as I know, the last time you were in the back of a car, it wasn't the Impala, darlin'; it was _your_ car." Dean smirks.

"Oh Right." _My car . . . when I was making out with your brother . . . ri-ight._ "Well anyway, I remember it being a lot more comfortable for some reason."

"Probably that human body pillow you had." Dean muttered.

Your head came up to listen more closely. "What?"

Dean ignored Sam's bitchface and spoke up. "Do you need me to turn the heat up?"

"No, I've got my sleeping bag. I just wish I'd packed a towel to roll up for a pillow or something."

Sam whipped off his jacket off and handed it to you. "Here. Roll this up. I'm roasting in front of the heating vents. I don't need it."

You catch his eye as he turns around. "Thanks Sam. Sorry to be such a princess."

"No problem. You've just been off the road for too long."

You're not sure if he means he's missed you or he's teasing you, but the feeling behind the words is more comforting than the body-warm fabric you're tucking under your head. You close your eyes, trying not to replay Sam taking off his jacket in your head . . . too many times. The jacket’s still warm from Sam’s body, and it smells just like _him_ : like sandalwood and old books and gunpowder. It doesn’t take much imagination to pretend you’re resting your head on Sam’s shoulder.

You wake when the Impala skirts Chicago and flash Dean unnecessary puppy eyes to get him to make a slight detour for an authentic Chicago-style hot dog. You want to hit a place that’s supposed to have the best Chicago-style pizza on the way back, and of course Dean is on board. Sam rolls his eyes at both of you. He’s very tolerant of the love affair you and Dean have with local food. Sam could call veto if he really wanted to, and you and Dean might grumble a little, but mostly you all respected veto power when it came to deciding where to eat or sleep. Sam and Dean let you start finding places on your phone early on as they both noticed that regardless of the health factor, the food was often tastier when you picked the options. You took time in the car to research places to eat as a way of trying to make the life have some perks. It was one of Garth’s rules. Sam and Dean might have brought your hunting skills up to a whole new level, but Garth taught you how to live on the job and not just survive.

Dean prefers diners, bars, and, greasy spoons. Sam likes the cafes, pubs, and sushi places. You can usually get both of them to agree on something that crosses over categories or take turns, and you try to throw out options and votes in both their categories. You would never pick a cafe that didn’t serve a burger or a killer steak sandwich or bar bq for Dean just like you would never pick some mom and pop place that didn’t have a decent grilled chicken salad for Sam. Lucky for them, you’re kind of an omnivore, so you can make it work either way. You might vote with Sam a little more often, but Sam’s picks were healthier, and if you were going to be hunting, you needed some healthy food to keep your energy up. _Frankly, Dean’s ability to be a badass on his diet was supernatural. He must burn a lot of calories with worry and guilt._ You thought Sam conceded to Dean’s stomach more than the other way around as his way of looking after Dean. Food was one of Dean’s consistent pleasures. You tried to balance things a little when you could. It had _nothing_ to do with that smile Sam got when you found a place that he really liked. Nothing whatsoever.

It was cold out when you stopped so you got a sweater from the trunk to use and returned Sam's jacket to him. When you all settled back in the car, it was freezing. Dean turns the heat on and gets you back on the road. You take off your boots again, and burrowed back into your sleeping bag trying to warm up. You wish you had Sam’s coat back, but you still have the sweater, so you take that off and bundle it under your head.

Sam watches you squirming around in the back seat, trying to warm up. He knows nothing you are doing is dirty, but the way you’re moving and the little sounds you make trying to get warm make Sam wish he was there to warm you up and that you were squirming against him. Having just watched you devour a giant hot dog while making filthy sounds of oral contentment already had him half hard. Seeing you strip off a layer of clothing in the rearview mirror doesn't help anything, even if not much of you was revealed in the process.

“Hey, easy back there!”Dean calls, chuckling, noting his brother squirming beside him and putting the clues together. “You sound like you’re having personal time in that sleeping bag.”

“Shut up, gutterface. Just shivering and trying to warm up.”

“The car’ll be warm soon.” Dean assures you, his face going from teasing to big brother in seconds.

“I know. Just tired after the good food.” You tend to get cold easily when you’re body is particularly tired.

“Yeah, it was pretty damn good food. Great call, as always, princess.”

You grin. You know Dean would say it anyway because he means it, but his expression in the mirror let's you know he’s saying it now to remind you you’re part of the team.

Sam’s puppy eyes catch yours in the rearview. “You need my jacket again?”

“Thanks Sam. But it’s cold. You need it. I’ll be fine. Just tired really.”

Sam turns to Dean. “We’re about halfway, right?”

“Yeah.” Dean agrees. “You want to stop?”

You shrug in your nylon and stuffing cocoon. “You’re driving. Your call. I’m fine. Sam?”

“I’m fine too. It’s what five . . . six hours yet?”

“Yeah.” You and Dean agree.

Dean rolls his shoulders. “It’s not that late. Let’s keep going.”

You nestle into your bag and ease into a satisfied post-road food coma. You can do this. You’ve gone on enough hunts with the boys that it’s almost like being in a play. You just have to remember your lines and everything will be fine. Right now, you can almost pretend it's all normal, and you're in the safest place in the world: sleeping in the Impala with Sam and Dean in the front while more AC/DC plays from the speakers.

By the time you get to a motel, you’re completely out. You’ve been tired a lot lately. Pining after Sam is exhausting. You don’t even notice them leaving the car. Dean gets the room booked and opened while Sam rubs your leg through the sleeping bag, trying to wake you gently. “Hey, _________, we’re there.”

“Mmmm hrrrumph.”

Sam shakes his head and leans into the car, picking you up, sleeping bag and all, and carries you into the motel. You start to make sounds of distress until your face leans against him, and you catch his scent. “Sam …” You mumble. Your face relaxes into a smile, and you go back to sleep.

Sam smiles, enjoying the moment: the weight of you in his arms, the smile on your face when you realize it's him, the complete trust that lets your whole body relax into him and fall back to sleep. “That’s right, I’ve got you, young padawan.”

“Yer th’ bes’ Sammm. Mmmmm. Sooo t’red.”

Sam gently maneuvers you on the bed closest to the bathroom while he and Dean unpack the car. By the time you stir, they’re done checking the room for hex bags and laying the salt lines. You slowly wake up, wanting to stretch and at least get out of your jacket, maybe get a shower.

♪ _Dust to Dust_ by Civil Wars♪

♪ _It's not your eyes; It's not what you say; It's not your laughter that gives you away. You're just lonely. You've been lonely, too long. Oh, you're acting, your thin disguise, all your perfectly delivered lines, they don't fool me. You've been lonely, too long._ ♪

You wake up to Dean coming over to ruffle your hair and hand you the sweater that had been under your head in the car. “You were really out there for awhile, princess. You feelin’ ok?”

You notice that your boots are already beside the bed. “Yeah, just having trouble sleeping lately. Too many thoughts.”

Dean nods. He's familiar with that particular affliction. “Well rest, up tonight. We need you sharp for tomorrow.”

You did a sleepy mock salute that deep down you and Dean knew you actually half meant. “Yes Sir, Winchester, Sir. Either of you need to shower?”

Sam and Dean shook their heads and opened a couple beers from the car to unwind from the long drive while Dean flicked on the TV looking for a movie.

“Great.” You were looking through one of your bags for your shower bag, when another piece of normal catches your attention: three of you, two beds. You hadn’t thought of that yet. Usually, you and Sam shared a bed. You curled up in your sleeping bag over the blankets, and he burrowed under. That was your normal. Now that you’d shared _his_ bed without any fabric barriers of any kind, sharing a bed like this felt weird. No. You were not going there. You could pout about it, and let things get deeply uncomfortable, but it was _Sam_. No matter what else was going on or not going on, Sam would feel hurt if you tried to do anything other than share with him like you had before, and you couldn’t let him suffer for trying to be nice, even if it killed you. So you’d just act normal, and hope it felt normal when you finally got to the sleeping part of the day.

Dean sat on his bed by the door and skimmed channels until he found the end of _Rocky_ on Spike TV.

You saw the previews for _Predator_ about to come on next on a commercial break. “Man, it’s been forever since I saw _Predator_. Maybe my shower could wait.”

Dean snorted. “With the way you smell after roasting in that sleeping bag for hours, there is _no way_ I'm going to let you delay your shower.” Dean snarked, grinning. He saw the look on your face when you did the math on the sleeping arrangements, and he figured getting you out of the room so he could have a quick chat with his brother was the best way to circumvent _that_ apparent weirdness. He did _not_ have time for you two to keep this up while you were all on the job.

You roll your eyes. “Whatever; like _you_ smell so fabulous.”

“Lucky you don’t have to share with _me_ , princess.”

You and Sam stiffen just a little, but ignored it. It would be fine. You just had to shake it off and get back to normal. You had to remember your lines. “Sam, can you check the bed while I shower?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam knew his tone was off. Normally, he'd reply to that request with some cute remark, but he was surprised that you _said_ it. It was the thing you said; it was your line, but the timing felt off on the delivery. Although, Sam _had_ remembered to check the bathroom for bugs as well as hex bags like he did on every hunt since you joined them a year and a half ago. He'd done it all spring and summer even while you weren't there, so maybe if you were still saying the things you used to say and he was doing the things he used to do, there was a chance you'd _really_ missed him too. "Oh and the bathroom's clear. I checked."

You tried to flash a grin at him while grabbing a change of clothes, but it felt wrong, like the sort of grin that was etched into a mask: too wide and not quite right. You'd have to practice in the shower. "Thanks Sam. You're the best." Inside the bathroom, you lean hard into the sink, from the exhaustion of faking OK. You tried the flash smile again. The smile looked less forced than you expected, but it was the way it didn't meet your eyes that was the giveaway.

♪ _Let me in the wall you've built around. We can light a match and burn it down. Let me hold your hand and dance 'round and 'round the flames in front of us. Dust to dust._ ♪

Sam's ears perked up when he heard you talking about having trouble sleeping. He wonders if you're not sleeping well for the same reasons he's not. Or at least if it's not because you feel _that_ way about him, maybe at least it's because you miss being around him. For Sam, not hanging out with you for the last few months has felt like he's been trying to function without his ribcage, and knowing at was at least a little hard on you would at least make that all easier to get past.

While you washed off the road, Sam lifted all the covers on the bed closest to the bathroom then the pillows and blankets. He checks your sleeping bag too, just to be sure and then zips it closed so it's still clear when you get back.

Dean glances over at him, curious. “What are you doing there, Sammy?”

Sam chuckles. “Ah, checking for spiders. We have a long-standing arrangement.”

“I see . . . Spider checking in exchange for snuggles?”

Sam’s bitchface replaces his smile in a flash. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not.”

Sam ignores Dean's jab and finishes his task. He finds one centipede and carefully takes it off the bed before he kills it mercilessly. There were about four in the bathroom that he killed, but he didn't mention it to you because he knew you'd be paranoid if he did. The last time you’d taken a shower in that state, you'd insisted on showering with one of your knives, and they'd had to buy a new shower curtain at Wal-Mart. Satisfied with his inspection, Sam let out a long yawn and stretched his arms before taking a seat on the bed beside your sleeping bag, leaning himself against the headboard.

“You getting tired?”

“Yeah, long drive, and I haven’t been sleeping much better than it sounds like she has lately.”

“You two keeping each other up, Sammy?” Dean winked.

“Not the way _you_ mean.” Sam got up, took an extra blanket from one of the drawers and one of the pillows and started to lay them out on a short, lumpy looking thing that may have once been a couch for children.

Dean took a hard look at him. “Sam, what the hell are you doing?”

“Going to bed, what’s it look like?”

“It looks like you’re trying to practice contortionism for no reason.”

“Look, it’s no big deal. I just figured I’d let her have the bed.”

Dean bit his tongue. He could let it go. He could let you both work it out like adults and let Sam suffer on that puffed up armchair for tonight, but Dean just couldn’t watch Sam put himself through further misery for no reason. “Come on Sam, does she really smell that bad? Should I tell her to use extra soap in there, or do you really want to practice sleeping like a stray dog in a padded box? I mean it would make more sense for _her_ to sleep in the chair.”

Sam immediately looked flustered. “No . . . she doesn’t smell. I just thought . . . I mean I’m just saying . . . I don’t mind sleeping on the couch for jawas.”

“Enough dude! There’s two beds like always. No R rated Star Wars crap or whatever you two kids did a few months back. Stop being ridiculous and just cuddle or whatever hell it is that you do now.”

Sam ignored Dean and started to curl himself onto the couch.

Dean decided to try another tactic, keeping his voice low. "If she comes out of that shower and sees you trying to sleep on that thing after that show you two have been making of things bein' normal, you're just gonna hurt her, and this might be the last hunt she comes on with _us_ anytime soon. Even _I_ know better than that."

Sam froze, considered Dean's words and with a quick glance at the bathroom, tossed the pillow and blanket on the bed and made sure the jawa couch looked as it had before your shower. 

Dean glanced back at Sam, allowing himself an approving smile. “One other thing.”

“Yeah?”

“It is _way_ too damn cold for me to sleep in the Impala or go out to go bang for roof. I meant what I said, keep it PG-rated.”

Sam gave Dean a long, suffering look. “I just don’t want to make things harder.” _And like **you** bang for roof anymore. _

"Then stop treating her like she’s radioactive. I'd tell her the same damn thing if she was out here tryin' to sleep on that glorified flip 'n fuck."

Sam nodded and arranged his pillow on the bed on the side he usually took, between you and the wall-to protect you from spiders, and laid the extra blanket on the bed too in case you got really cold.

Dean finished his first beer and started a second while he gave the mini couch another dirty look. “Dude, I’ve seen dicks bigger than that couch.”

Sam snorted, the laughter reaching his eyes. “ _When_ have you seen dicks bigger than that couch?”

Dean smirked, Sam was smiling: mission accomplished. “Every time I hit the head, brother.”

Sam shook his head, his face contorting in disgust. “Hey, I do _not_ need to hear that!”

“Jealous?”

“Who’s jealous?” You come out of the bathroom clean and now in yoga pants, a camisole, and a hoodie. Sam smiles and offers you a beer, and you settle in to watch _Predator_.

Dean grinned. “I was just telling Sammy, here, that my dick is bigger than that couch.”

You give the couch a contemptuous look similar to the ones Dean’s been shooting at it. “Who's supposed to be able to sleep on that? Ewoks? Jawas?"

Dean snickered. "Yeah, Sammy was thinking along the same lines."

You nod at Sam approvingly before turning your attention back to Dean. "As for your dick, I can’t say from personal experience, but the couch is _pretty small_." You wink at Sam, and he gives you a high five. "So I’ll take your word for it.” You think about making a comment, that Sam’s _definitely_ is bigger than the couch, but it feels weird so you just swallow your beer and checked in on the movie. Arnold Schwarzenegger is in the forest with his team hunting the Predator. "Yes! I didn't miss the best parts." You burrow back into your sleeping bag, after giving it a through sniff,. “It does not smell.” You mutter. A few minutes later, you lean sideways towards Sam, whispering conspiratorially, “Bed safe?”

Sam leans closer to you. “Yup? The shower?”

“Yup. Zero clowns in the shower.”

“Excellent.” You and Sam clink your beer necks.

Dean glanced at you two. “What are you two girls whispering about?”

You both look at him and answer together: “Nothing.”

“Uh huh.” Dean's tone makes it clear that he doesn't believe a word of it.

* * *

 

The first time you went on a hunt with the boys, there was only one room left and two beds. It didn’t hit them until you all got back to the room that there was an issue. Dean and Sam started a round of rock, paper, scissors for who got a bed alone.

“Are you guys deciding who _has_ to sleep with me _OR_ who _gets_ to sleep with me?”

Sam blushed.

Dean smirked, “Gets to.”

“Who’s winning?”

“Two-two.”

“Let me make it easy. Sam wins.”

“What?! Why?”

“He seems like more of gentleman.”

“And what am I?”

“Clearly, you're a scoundrel.”

“Princess.”

“Scruffy-Looking Nerf-herder.”

Dean turned to his brother and gave him a very serious look. “Sam, we need to keep her; behave yourself.”

Sam rolled his eyes. And that’s how you and Sam became bed buddies: you in your sleeping bag and Sam under the covers.

* * *

 

The predator was about to kill Blaine when you feel Sam shifting behind you. After shoving aside an inconvenient, but delicious flash fantasy where Sam is touching himself, you turn to see him rubbing his neck. You lean back towards his head to whisper. "Want me to rub that out for you?" You resist the immediate and powerful urge to close your eyes and cover your face with your hands. _Oh crap, did I just say that? Must properly separate daydreams from reality before speaking. Must, must! Don't react. If you don't react, no one will take what you just said to the obvious porno interpretation._

__

Sam looked at you, eyebrows raised in surprise. _I must have heard her wrong._ Sam forced his face to not curl into a filthy smirk. _Did she just say . . . No. Don't go there. That's not what she meant and you **know** it . . . Save that little memory for your shower tomorrow and calm down before you embarrass yourself. _ “What?”

 _He just didn’t hear you. Don’t apologize, that’ll just make it weird._ “Your neck? Do you want me to rub your neck?”

 _No, that’s what she actually said . . . but still not what she meant._ "Um, yeah. That'd be great. I think I drifted off in the front seat at some point, and there's no good position for that."

Unseen by you, Dean bit his tongue and forced himself to just watch the damn movie and not say any of the myriad of filthy commentary bursting at the tip of his tongue. Instead, Dean pulled out his phone and started texting.

 

> Dean: hey cas. man, you would not believe these two
> 
> Castiel: What happened?
> 
> Dean: we're watching predator & she just asked sam if he'd like her to rub one out for him
> 
> Castiel: What?

You smile. "No, not really. Um, you wanna sit between my legs on the floor so I can reach? Or I can kneel behind you . . ." _What is wrong with me? Why is everything that comes out of my mouth straight out of Skinemax?_

 

> Dean: now she's asking sam whether he would rather get between her legs or have her get on her knees
> 
> Castiel: Dean, I think as your brother would say: you are confusing reality and porn again.
> 
> Dean: i wish dude  that would solve so much

Dean mutters something about brushing his teeth and gets up to go to the bathroom, managing to suppress his laughter until he shuts the door.

Sam just stares at you for a minute. _Is she doing this on purpose?_ "Um, how about I sit on the floor so you can still see the movie?"

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak anymore, while Sam gets the extra blanket to sit on.

Dean comes back in while you start working on Sam's neck, continuing to watch the movie.

Blaine's funeral brought you all back to watching the movie. You paused your neck massaging when the variation on taps played. "I know it's just a movie, but Mac saying goodbye to Blaine gets me every time."

Dean and Sam exchange a wet look and just nod. You hold Sam's left shoulder with one hand and rub his right with your other hand. Around the time the predator starts giving himself first aide, you give Sam's shoulders a last squeeze and go back to working on Sam's neck and shoulders

Eventually, your mind starts to wander as his hair keeps brushing against your fingers. _Sam's hair feels so soft; it's amazing. I could run my fingers through it for hours._

Sam's sitting and watching the team set their first set of traps for the predator, trying not to get too distracted every time your fingers brush under his collar or into the base of his scalp, but he's startled when he feels your fingers brush through his hair. It's been months since he's so much as been in the same room with you for more than an hour, so suddenly sitting between your legs and then feeling your hands in his hair catches Sam so off guard that he's turning to look back at you before he can stop himself. "Um, ____? What . . . .?"

Your eyes get enormous as you realize what your hand -currently sort of frozen in the air- was doing. "Um, there was lint? Yeah, lint in your hair."

Dean clears his throat, but doesn't turn or give any facial expression to indicate he was doing anything but _actually_ clearing his throat. Instead, he pulls out his phone again.

 

> Dean: cas  they are about to braid each other's hair
> 
> Castiel: That will be pretty

Sam raises his eyebrows. "You get it?"

"Um, yup. How's your neck feel?"

 _You moron. Why did you turn around? She's **finally** touching you, and you turn around and question **why** she's playing with your hair? Seriously . . ._ "Ah, a lot better, thanks. You want me to do you next?" Sam feels his face freeze in a smile. _What is **wrong** with you? There was no other, **better** way to say that?"_

__

You're so close to either laughing or wrapping your legs around his head at this point that resistance is painful. You feel your mouth forming responses without you. "Um, yeah, that would be great. Should we just switch places? You sit on the bed, and I'll get between your legs?" _I clearly **should have** masturbated in the back of the Impala. I am wound WAY too tight for this._

Dean starts to choke on his beer, but fortunately Sam covers it by starting to get up off the floor, so you can't see the faces Dean is trying to suppress.

> Dean: sam asked if she wanted him to DO her next.
> 
> Castiel: You must have misheard.
> 
> Dean: now she wants to know if he wants her to get between his legs while he sits on the bed
> 
> Castiel: What are they actually doing?
> 
> Dean: giving each other massages
> 
> Castiel: While not overly sexual, that sounds unexpectedly intimate given their last few months of relative isolation from each other.
> 
> Dean: very
> 
> Castiel: Perhaps they are, as you say: sorting out their shit :)
> 
> Dean: i wish, man. this is like listening to the most awkward porn ever . . . if those two don't figure things out soon . . . i'm gonna hurt myself trying not to laugh or trying not to lock them in the room and hide their clothes
> 
> Castiel: How about we make locking them in a room with beds while naked, plan b?
> 
> Dean: lol if we do that they might need plan b
> 
> Castiel: I do not understand that reference.
> 
> Dean: not important; that's a good idea

Sam stands up, focusing on the movement until he trusts himself to talk. "Yeah . . . sounds great." _Sounds fucking amazing. I better sit as far back on the bed from her as possible if she's going to keep saying things like that._

Sam sits behind you on the bed and starts rubbing his fingers into your shoulders, being careful to stay over the hoodie because he's not sure he trusts his reactions to rubbing your bare skin. _I gotta remember to take a long shower tomorrow morning, or I will never make it through the day._

While Sam tries to keep himself focused, you start to lose your mind to Sam's hands. _Oh wow . . . that feels amazing . . . His hands are so freakin' enormous. Wow. His thumbs just find all the right spots . . ._ A small moan escapes your mouth and the entire room tenses. _Crap; hold it inside. No sounds. No noises. Watch the damn movie._

__

The movie is loud enough as the Predator starts picking off the cast in earnest that Sam sort of tries to pretend he didn't hear what he heard, but Sam can't ignore it completely because as soon as it happened, he felt your shoulders tense. _On second thought,_ _I better take a little "me time" before bed. I'm not gonna make it until morning, not with those noises in my head._ "Your shoulders are really tense ____."

Dean just kept texting and watching the movie.

"Hmmm? Yeah. I guess so." _Of course they're tense. I'm holding back enough pornographic sounds to get the sixth fleet off. If I were a dude, I'd be periscoping out of my yoga pants. If I relax my head, it will fall into his freaking lap and against his . . . don't think that. I wonder if Sam is feeling any of this? If I lean back I'll know for sure . . . no, watch the people dying. Look that guy lost an arm . . ._

> Dean: she's moaning like a porn star  cas
> 
> Castiel: Why? Are they engaging in sexual intercourse?
> 
> Dean: not last I looked but hell if it gets them to stop moping around I don't care if she gives him a handjob while I'm sitting in the next bed
> 
> Castiel: They need to figure this out for themselves, Dean.
> 
> Dean: i should have asked for two fucking rooms

By the time Billy dies, you can't take it anymore. You reach up to tap Sam's hand. "Thanks Sam, you'll have to finish me off tomorrow." _Really, Self? Really?!_ "I'm starting to nod off. I'm gonna brush my teeth." _I should have bought an electric toothbrush . . . It's a good thing Cas isn't here... SHIT! Cas, if you're listing with your nosey angel jedi mind tricks, STAY OUT OF THIS!_

Sam nods, eyes fixed on the movie. "Anytime. I'll go after you." _Why does **everything** I say sound like porn?_

__

 

> Castiel: Perhaps, but regardless, they have both been clear about their desire that we stay out of this.
> 
> Dean: fine

He risks a look at his brother after you leave the room, who looks like he might explode from holding in a million dirty thoughts, but all Deans says to Sam is, "Dude . . ." and mouths: _What the fuck?_

Sam shakes his head and readjusts himself so he can make it to the bathroom next.

You settle into your sleeping bag after you come back, focusing on watching Arnold start preparing to hunt the predator. Sam settles in next to you after he takes some extra time in the bathroom to "brush his teeth."

When _Predator_ finishes, you roll further into your cocoon and let sleep take you back, let the fatigue allow you to forget Sam is inches from you, so close you can faintly feel the heat of his body beside you.

Sam doesn't have it quite as easy, but he eventually he falls asleep too, aided by his earlier "stress relief."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, I do sometimes forget to reply to comments right away. I sort of hoard them until I'm writing to psyche myself up. I also am working on the next 2 big parts so I forget what's posted and what hasn't. But seriously, your comments mean the world to me, so thank you. I mean I write because otherwise my characters might kill me in my sleep or make me feel like Season 7 Sam, talking to the voices in his head . . . but for me it's also my place to push myself, try new techniques, go head to head with my demons and press on the walls of my comfort zone until they stretch. 
> 
> If you're looking for the best Chicago-style hot dog, this is my source: http://chicago.seriouseats.com/2013/05/the-10-best-chicago-style-hot-dogs.html
> 
> Anyway, what I'm saying is this is going to be the longest thing I've ever posted online soon and the longest thing I've finished. And I would never have made it this far or so quickly without all the comments and support and I really, really appreciate it.


	13. Awkward as a Bag of Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Sam wake up both working through some sexual frustration stemming from proximity and being back on a case together.
> 
> Warnings: Angst, maybe swearing, MAJOR sexual tension & innuendo, shameless teasing, Smut sort of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgements: Thanks to Spectaculacular-Sammy for being my sounding board (especially on the next few chapters that were very emotional to work on) and for helping me find images. Her writing is awesome and you should definitely check it out : http://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy

♪ _Waves_ by Mr. Probz ♪

♪ _My face above the water, my feet can't touch the ground, touch the ground, and it feels like I can see the sands on the horizon every time you are not around._ _I'm slowly drifting away (drifting away) Wave after wave, wave after wave; I'm slowly drifting (drifting away); And it feels like I'm drowning; Pulling against the stream; Pulling against the... (drifting away); Wave after wave, wave after wave; I'm slowly drifting (drifting away)_ _I wish I could make it easy, easy to love me, love me, but still I reach to find a way I'm stuck here in between; I'm looking for the right words to say . . . I'm slowly drifting away_ ♪

When Sam wakes, he's curled around you, inhaling deep whiffs of your hair, and Dean is gone, probably for doughnuts. You're still fast asleep in your sleeping bag cocoon, which Sam's grateful for as he has a "growing awareness" that he needs to get out of bed before you wake up and notice that 'a part of him' is nudging at your back, entirely beyond his control. With all the ninja-like stealth he can manage, Sam eases away from your body and out of bed. He's still mostly in his clothes from the night before, so he grabs his bag, holding it in front of his groin in case you wake up before he's clear of your line of sight. Sam eases the bathroom door open and risks a last glance at you before easing the door closed again and locking it.

He breaths deeply in the cool air of the bathroom. _Well, that could've been really awkward. So much for keeping things PG rated . . . at least Dean's out._ He rubs the stubble on his face, waking himself up. _She looked so peaceful sleeping there._ He smiles remembering the way you curled more closely into yourself when he left, seeming to smile in your sleep. He hadn't noticed you waking in the night. Whatever had been keeping you awake lately, hadn't bothered you last night. Sam liked to think that he played some part in that. If nothing else, you'd been friends for a well over a year now and aside from the last few months, you were close. You trusted each other.

Sam takes his shower bag out, noticing yours was still in the bathroom as well, and lays it on the edge of the sink. He lines his body wash, shampoo, and conditioner up on the edge of the shower and lays one of the motel wash cloths beside them. Sam makes sure one of the towels is within easy reach, and then starts pulling off his layers. When he takes off his pants at last, Sam couldn't stop the groan of relief that rushed past his lips any more than he could stop the way his aching cock was starting to peek out the top of his boxers.

Sam carefully eases his boxers down, giving his cock a few loose pulls to ease the tension. Then he turns on the water absently, his mind already drifting back to the dream he'd abandoned. While his body held yours closely in sleep, Sam's mind indulged in a now-frequent dream of you. It was the one he had in the library . . . _was it only a day ago? We left the bunker around noon and gotten in to the motel around one . . . that was about right._ In his dream, he'd had his face buried between your legs, licking you out while you made the sweetest noises around him, legs shaking over his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair . . . it was perfect.

Of course waking up wrapped around you had felt perfect too . . . until he remembered. Until Sam recited to himself the litany of things he had to keep in mind for the day, the realities he had to keep steady in his awareness. Still, there was time enough to remind himself of those things . . . after his shower. For now, there was no harm taking the edge off and imagining how he wanted things to be . . . how maybe they could be someday.

The shower had surprisingly decent water pressure. Sam bent down to wet his hair, enjoying the feeling of the warm water washing down his face. Sam stepped back and let the water spray over the rest of his body. He started to wash himself off and grabbed his wash cloth and what he thought was _his_ body wash. It was clear when he poured it onto his washcloth that it was _your_ body wash instead, the scent was unmistakable. Sam put yours back and started to get his own body wash when he had an idea. _No sense letting it go to waste. The soap will do the job no matter how it smells._ Closing his eyes before he over-thought matters and started to feel guilty, Sam wrapped the washcloth around his cock, and gave it a light cleaning. The scent of your body wash filled the shower, and Sam's imagination rapidly took over as he moaned your name.

He could imagine you sneaking into the shower . . .

“You want a mouth?”

“What?” Sam can imagine seeing you just outside the steam, closing the door and stripping out of your night clothes.

“Well, you left me all alone in that big bed when we have the place to ourselves, and I was dreaming about you. I guess I sensed that you were thinking about me too."

Sam imagines you looking down hungrily at his throbbing cock, poking out from the washcloth.

"You seem to already have a _hand_ on things, but you look like you could use another mouth. It sounded like you were asking me to help you out with that or did I mis-hear you?” Before Sam can think of a good response you're climbing into the shower after him and kissing him long, slow, deep.

When Sam moans into your mouth, his hips bucking, you pull back slightly.  "So, what was I doing?"

Sam looks at you, confused again, so you reach one hand down and merge it with his on his cock giving it a few slow strokes, thumbing the tip. "What were you imagining me doing with my mouth when I came in?"

Sam blushes a little. "You were, um, using your mouth where your hand is."

You smile at him like he's everything you want. "I see. I think I can help you with that."

"How did you get in?

Sam imagines you kneeling in front of him, taking his cock in your hands, your hair plastered to your body by the water shooting over his shoulder at you. "You tested me on lock picking, Winchester. You should remember . . . I have _many_ fine motor skills."

Sam nods, dumbly, pumping his cock in his hand. "I should . . . I should remember."

Sam felt you cup his ass in one hand steadying yourself and the other hand stroking his soaped up cock, rinsing it off. Then you took the head in your mouth, swirling your tongue over him, moaning.

Sam swirls the wash cloth over the head of his cock, wishing. He imagines you sucking on him . . . then looking up into his eyes, one hand now playing with your breasts while water streamed between them, droplets glittering off your nipples. He imagines your other hand snaking down between your legs to touch yourself. Sam jerks his cock faster. He imagines you take one hand off your breast to jerk his cock while you licked at him.

"Oh Sam; I hope you don't mind. I just get so wet seeing you come undone like this. The taste of you  . . . I just need to . . ."

Sam groans, forgetting how thin the walls were, forgetting everything. "No, that's perfect. You're perfect. Don't stop."

"Where do you want to come Sam? I can feel you're close. On my face or in my mouth?"

"In . . . in your mouth, please. Yes, _____, just like that. That's perfect. Yes. Keep touching yourself, baby. I want you to come when I do. Come for me, baby."

Sam imagines you coming hard for your hand, sucking on him with renewed vigor, pulling him over the edge and down your eager throat.

* * *

Shortly after Sam retreated to the bathroom, you rolled over onto his side of the bed now that there was no one laying there to stop you. Your face buried into his pillow, inhaling deeply Sam's scent of musk and sandalwood, and the tang of sweat.

"Sammm," You moan into the pillow.

You've been having dreams of your own . . .

Sam was laying beside you and despite the extra blanket. You could feel him shivering.

"Sam? You cold?"

"Just my hands."

You unzip your sleeping bag on the one side. "Here, you can tuck them in with me. It's pretty warm in here."

Sam smiles in the darkness, moving closer. "Where should I put my hands?"

You turn so your back is pressed firmly to his chest and take his ice cold hands in yours, rolling him a little on his back so he had better access and wrapping his arms around you in the process. "Where it's warmest." You put his right hand up under your shirts, tucking his fingers under your arm with his palm over your breast, and you feel his body shudder. The you take his other hand and tuck it between your thighs. "There. Better? You should warm up real quick this way."

Sam pulled you closer, adjusting his hands slightly, feeling the warm skin under his fingers. His thumb caresses a nipple while the middle finger of his other hand starts to slide under your yoga pants and into your soaked panties. "Much better now that I have my human electric blanket. Mmmm. You are so nice and warm . . . practically melting." Sam slides his finger perfectly, making you moan and curl against him while his other hands continues to play with your breast. In minutes, he has you on edge and then he pulls back, away from you.

You roll towards his side of the bed, chasing after his scent. When you find him, you pull yourself into his chest, now bare and wrap yourself around him, nuzzling into his neck, hands roaming. Sam pulls you on top of him and you're rolling your hips against him while you alternate between kissing him and nuzzling into his neck, while he whispers filth into your ear.

"Oh god . . . yes, just like that. Warm me up . . . yes . . . I need you _____. That's it. Ride me. Just rub yourself all over me. You've got me so hard . . . I think there's another part of me that could still use some warming up . . . maybe you can recommend a nice warm place to slide it into."

He has you right back on the edge again, and you're begging for him to take you over. "Please Sam; please. I've got a warm, cozy spot just for you. Please, more."

You're begging so hard, that Dean, who just came back from his food run, can hear you _outside_ of dreamland.

* * *

 

He freezes in the doorway. A quick scan tells him that no one is having sex, but by the way you are moving in your sleeping bag across the room, you sure seem to be thinking about it. The fact that you haven't stopped tells him that you're not awake either. Sam must be the shower sound he can hear. A deeper moan from the shower that nearly has him dropping his keys tells him that Sam is clearly thinking along the same lines that you are.

Dean gets a triumphant smile. _This is it. The moment those two finally figure it out. I just have to leave without either of them ever knowing I was here. Sam should be coming out of the shower any minute if that groan he just made is any indication. He'll catch ____, having a naughty dream while molesting his pillow and all the bullshit will finally be over . . ._

Dean just backs slowly out of the room, congratulating himself when you accidentally roll yourself and Sam's pillow right off the bed. Sam pops out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and gun drawn at the sound.

Dean just shakes his head and puts the coffee carrier and the paper sack of food on the table. _Fuck. Can't catch a break._ Dean closes the door behind him and puts down the breakfast. "Everything's fine, Sam. Stow your weapon _s_ and go put some clothes on. She just rolled out of bed." Sam shoots Dean a dirty look and goes back into the bathroom while Dean comes over to you to help.

Between the sheets and blankets and your sleeping bag, you're completely tangled, and it's starting to freak you out. "It's a trap!"

Dean chuckles. "No kidding? You know, it's possible that this asteroid may not be entirely stable."

You snort caught between a place beyond frustration and laughter. "Not entirely stable? I'm glad you're here to tell us these things. Help me find the fucking zipper will you?"

"Stop squirming around and hang on. You're like a hobbit caught in a spider cocoon."

That idea only makes you thrash harder. "Well unless you have a fucking elven sword to cut me out right the fuck now, stop talking about giant fucking spiders!"

"Calm down Bilbo; it's not like Ungoliant and her spawn are coming for breakfast!"

Sam comes out of the bathroom at this point, fully dressed this time and nudges Dean away who is trying to grab you in spite of your flailing. "Dean, go get the food out. I've got this."

Dean rolls his eyes and moves off, muttering. "You and spiders . . . you're like friggin' Ron Weasley."

Sam maneuvers so his giant boots are caging you in so you can't keep rolling around. "Hey. Easy there. It's ok. I checked for spiders remember? You're bag was clean. Hold still a minute." Sam pulls the blankets away, tosses them on the bed, and then picks you up and puts you on the bed too. Then he unzips your sleeping bag and helps pull you out while you take long, deep breaths of relief.

"Thanks. I thought I'd _actually_ have to cut my way out."

"Anytime you need to be cut out of fabric, I'm your guy." Sam seems to realize how his words could be misinterpreted, but it's too late so he keeps smiling.

You give Sam an odd look while your unsatisfied hormones converted his words down to the dirtiest common denominator. "Well you are pretty skilled with that big knife of yours." _Nooo . . . that wasn't overly suggestive. Calm the fuck down girl. Get some coffee and breakfast before you start climbing him like a lemur._

 _Is she flirting with me? She flirts with everyone, calm down._ "Erm, looks like Dean's got coffee and breakfast."

Your ears perk up. "Breakfast?"

"It's coffee and breakfast sandwiches." Dean called across the room.

Eager to distract yourself from your extreme state of sexual frustration with righteous irritation, you turn on Dean. "Dean, there had better be cheese in my sandwich, you mynock, or I will kick your ass for that spider crap!"

"Sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. What's wrong? Bad dreams?"

There's something in Dean's eyes that makes you think that he knows something he shouldn't, but you force yourself to recover quickly. "You're hilarious." You head to the bathroom and use it while trying to sedate your hormones that are revving so fast between the dream, the low blood sugar, and seeing Sam wet and in a towel first thing this morning. "Fucking hell." You mutter, cleaning yourself up.

When you come out of the bathroom, Sam has coffee and your sandwich on a plate for you. "Thanks Sam. At least one of you has manners." You glare at Dean.

"Hey! Who brought you, your sandwich and coffee-flavored coffee?"

You consider, still giving him side eye. "You also made me visualize giant spiders while I was trapped between the bed and the wall, cocooned in fabric. You're just dead even."

Dean rolls his eyes. "I even got your sandwich with bacon." He hands you the plate Sam prepared, and you took it like a distrusting Ewok.

After an investigative sniff to determine that it did in fact have bacon, you dug in before smiling at Dean. "Goonda."

Dean cocks his head. "Did you just speak Ewok to me?"

You nod your head, still eating. “Yub nub.”

Dean chuckles and ruffles your hair. "Glad you're back, Princess."

Sam smiles too, and you both pull out your laptops and start reading the local papers, looking for recent articles that fit the pattern. Dean picked up some maps of the town too. He starts marking the map with the incident reports. While you scan articles, you're trying not to notice how Sam looks when he's focused. You're trying to ignore the way you really just want to climb into his lap and rub yourself against him until you finish what dream-Sam started. You shake your head and drink more coffee. _I really need to see if I can buy a waterproof vibrating bullet for the shower in this town._

__

Dean focuses on the case, mainly ignoring the little looks he sees you two giving each other because if he notices that and thinks about how close you two were to having a meaningful confrontation about all this crap he will lose his mind.

"Hey, we have violence." Sam points to the paper

You look up. "What do you have?"

"Last night a coffee barista was at work, and he just lost it."

"Some order a nonfat, sugar free, half caff, non-coffee coffee?"

Sam chuckles. "Doesn't say, but he came to work, and something set him off. He ended up throwing scalding hot coffee on someone and giving them third degree burns."

Dean has his marker at the ready. "Where was that?"

"Some cafe on main street . . . Forester Coffee."

Dean looks over the map. "Huh. That's not that close to the other incidents. Any others?"

"Nothing showing up in the paper, but maybe the cops know of a few others that aren't in the papers yet." Sam suggests.

"Or the hospitals." You offer. "And we need to check out the other incidents: the elementary school where the teacher was embezzling, and the garage of the car repairperson who stole a car."

Dean nods. "OK. So we split up to cover more ground?"

You nod, a little reluctantly. You really were hoping for an opening to talk to both brothers separately at some point to try to smooth things over. They were both being great about it, but you'd practically been in hiding for months and given that you tended to be pretty outgoing except for that first month in the bunker when you were semi-avoiding Sam. They deserved an explanation of some sort . . . especially Sam. "Um sure. What are we looking for exactly, Sam?"

"People who are acting extremely out of character, particularly violently."

"Yeah, about that Sam . . . how did this even come up on your radar? No one's died yet."

"Actually, it was pretty random. I was listening to this podcast, and it was talking about job stress and the way it's taking an increasing toll on people and manifesting in an increase in chronic and acute illnesses particularly related to immune system compromises, cognitive disorders, vice abuse, and an increase of extreme cases of acting out. This town was noted in the segment as two cases in the same town inside of a week, which is pretty suspicious especially as this is a pretty small town." Sam decided to leave out that he happened to be listening to that particular podcast over the summer because he was trying to figure out what was going on with you.

"It really is. I mean it's near bigger, shinier places, but the cases are here. I mean I guess tourist season could take a toll, but I would think that job stress wouldn't be higher here than other places."

Dean cocks his head. "Where do you think the most stressful jobs are?"

Sam shrugs. "Air traffic controllers and dentists are supposed to be really stressful professions."

Your first thought is _whoever as to be our guardian angel_ , but that's less funny now that it's sort of true. "Maybe the people at Disney. I bet it's hard being happy all the time." The brothers laugh, and you enjoy a satisfied grin that comes with making them (Sam) laugh. "OK, so be on the lookout for stressed out workers. We can say we're looking for signs that an adrenal blocker was used to alter their personality as a form of chaotic biological warfare." Sam and Dean just stare at you for a minute. "What? I've been reading for six months, and I find science fascinating. I've got a whole new sack of bullshit for us to doll out to all the civilians."

Sam stares at you slack jawed for a minute before Dean says what he's thinking.

"I bet it just gets the geeks all riled up when you talk like that."

"Aww Dean, stop it." You joke back. "You'll make a girl swoon here. Do we have IDs ready?"

Dean grins, clearly proud of his latest creation from the professional laminator in the bunker. "I think they're my new favorites. I am Agent James B. Barnes, you are Agent Margaret Carter." He hands you a badge with flourish. "And Sam is Agent Steve Rogers."

You raise an eyebrow. "I'm Peggy Carter? Sweet. We better use these while we can. Soon there will be too many geeks to pull this off. Let me go slip into something that makes me look like a proud, founding member of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

Dean cocks an eyebrow at you, impressed with your geek cred, while you pulled your clothes out and headed to the bathroom. Safely inside, you took a few minutes to give yourself a pep talk before putting on armor and war paint which was pretty much how you thought of your professional dress wear and make up.

_It’ll be fine. Make sure you don't get drunk and hook up with him again because if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that you can’t survive another round of having Sam under your fingertips and still not really yours. Obviously, he wants your friendship, and if that’s all he wants, that’s fine; make it clear that you want his friendship too. So do whatever you have to keep his friendship; keep an eye out for the “just friends” speech and cut it off at the pass because if he sees you react to it, he'll know. You can absolutely do this. Go be Peggy Carter, and save the freakin' day, woman!_

Your phone vibrates, letting you know you have an incoming text. You grin. Kevin had unnatural timing sometimes.

                        Kevin: hey, how are things going?

                        You: um, well they're a lot better. No more panic attacks so far, but

                        Kevin: But?

                        You: It's really hard to keep things PG rated

                        Kevin: so why are you trying?

                        You: because if I just keep falling into bed with him, we're never gonna break bad habits that follow

                        Kevin: like you running for the hills?

                        You: exactly. we need to get back to real communication or nothing else can ever work

                        Kevin: sounds like a plan, Padmé. Just tell me one thing       

                        You: what?

                        Kevin: are you two sharing a bed again?

                        You: yes but in the least sexy way possible; that's our normal

                        Kevin: you two need a new normal

                        You: preaching to the choir buddy, but we need to get back to old normal first

                        Kevin: just remember not to over compensate

                        You: What?

                        Kevin: you know; don't hyper fuss over Dean to keep it from being too obvious that you want to fuss over Sam

                        You: I do that, don't I?

                        Kevin: You do. be mindful

                        You: You got it Kevin Solo

                        Kevin: Thata girl

You trusted Kevin almost as much as Garth before the last six months, and now, they were dead even.

Once you were inside the bathroom, Dean flips open his phone.

                        Dean: cas, you will never believe what i just walked in on this morning

                        Castiel: Were they copulating?

                        Dean: yeah  with their hands

                        Castiel: ?

                        Dean: they were jerking off

                        Castiel: You mean they were masturbating?

                        Dean: yes

                        Castiel: Together?

                        Dean: sadly no

                        Castiel:  This is unfortunate :(

                        Dean: damn right. there is so much sexual tension between those two it's crazy. man I had to rub one out in the shower just to                         go to bed after listening to those two last night

Sam follows "suit" after you to change into his "official" FBI outfit, while Dean finishes "checking in with Cas."

                        Castiel: What did they say when you caught them?

                        Dean: they don't know i heard anything

                        Castiel: You cannot say anything.

                        Dean: i know

                        Castiel: We have spoken of this. You expressed the sentiment that we had interfered enough.

                        Dean: why do you think i am texting you instead of calling them out on this bullshit?

                        Castiel: I am sorry Dean. This must be frustrating.

                        Dean: damn right. but i think we've helped enough for now

                        Castiel: Have faith.

                        Dean: you have faith; i'm gonna just try to help them get out of their way

While Dean changed, you and Sam sat at the table reviewing your notes. Sam pulls out a glazed doughnut and starts eating it. Sam looked WAY took good in his ink blue suit and burgundy tie that coincidentally matched your dress. Way, way too good. In between pages, you stared at the glazed doughnut in Sam's hand. Your brain is starting to wonder if the hole in the center was big enough for a sort of dirty ring toss situation when Sam catches you.

"What?"

You shake your head to clear it. "What?"

"You were staring."

You start looking for spare bullshit in your brain. "Oh; I was just wondering if doughnuts are named because they look like nuts of dough as in nuts and bolts. And if they are, why aren't doughnut holes called doughbolts?"

Sam laughs. "I have no idea."

"About which part?"

"Any of it."

Dean came out of the bathroom, and you and Sam gather your things. Dean gave you a once over. "You're wearing a jacket over that dress, right?"

You roll your eyes while you apply high-shine liquid lip-gloss. "Yes Dean. I am wearing a blazer _and_ a coat _and_ a scarf. I will look like an agent in good standing at the FBI. Calm down. I still know how to dress like a professional. I'll only bring out the girls if I need a distraction."

"What about the porn star lip gloss?"

"Dean!" Sam growls.

You shrug. "I like the way it feels, even if it is whore's make up."

"Fine, but people are acting crazy in this town. I don't want someone to go berserk because you hit on their boyfriend or something and try to shoot you."

"Thanks Dean. Geez. I'm not gonna get shot trying to get information. Your mouth looks like a porn star's without any help. Stop being jealous just because people might look at my lips more than yours for a change." _Why did I say that? Of all the things I could say to shut Dean up . . . I said that **Dean** had porn star lips . . . Why would I say that in front of Sam . . . Kevin is right. I over compensate . . . I mean it's true, but Sam doesn't need to hear that . . . no matter how he feels, he doesn't need to hear that I have **any** thoughts whatsoever about his freakin' brother's lips . . . _

Sam feels something uncomfortable and slimy crawl under his skin that stinks like jealousy. _Why would she say that? Does she think about Dean like **that**? She must. Why else would she say something like that? She clearly thinks about Dean's mouth doing dirty, sexual things . . . Maybe they all have to do with Cas. That would be weird, but that's nothing to be jealous about. Girls sometimes fantasize about guys together like men think about women together. I mean it's not like I've never pictured ____ and Charlie . . . Nope. Don't go there. These pants will not hide **anything**._

Your remarks caught Dean off guard for about thirty seconds. _Oh crap; why did she have to say that? Now Sam's gonna freak out . . . fuck._ "What? People don't . . . Shaddup."

Sam cuts in, eager for a change in conversation to anything other than your mouth, which slicked up as it is with whatever you put on it made it look plump and wet like it would feel _amazing_ wrapped around his . . . His voice squeaks a little as he changes the conversation. "So where to first? Police station? Check out their files on the assault last night?"

Dean flips his focus. "How about we start there, so we can all take a look at the files, and then split up to check out the three crime sites?"

Your hand shoots into the air faster than Hermione. "Shotgun on the coffee shop."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Like I was going to fight you for it. I'll take the garage."

"Shocking." You snark. "Wait, Sam; I'm sorry do you want the coffee shop? I can take the school."

Sam shrugs, smiling. "It's fine. You take the coffee shop. We'll all meet there after since that was the most recent case."

You take a minute to give him a real smile. "Thanks Sam."

Dean ushers you all out the door. "Like you did the nerd any favors. He loved school. He could barely be dragged away."

Sam glowers at Dean, but you snap back before Sam has a chance. "Yeah? Like you're any better at a garage. I bet Sam meets me at the coffee shop, and we have to go drag your ass out from under some car."

Dean grins. "If they had the right one, I wouldn't even be ashamed."

Sam hangs back and gives you this look that's full of unnecessary gratitude. "Thanks."

You're still smiling, a little proud. It's silly. It's a little thing and you know Dean didn't mean anything by it, but it felt good standing up for Sam after feeling like you were emotionally radioactive for the last few months. It made you feel like you were sort of coming back to your spot in the world . . . on their side . . .  especially Sam's.

Sam's is almost embarrassed with how good it feels having you get feisty on his behalf even over something stupid. "Don't listen to Dean. You look really sharp in that dress." _That unzips all the way to the bottom, because fashion hates me._ "Very professional."

"FBI level professional?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Definitely." He nods.

Sam's tie is a little crooked. There were times you shied away from touching him because you were afraid that when you did it would be obvious to everyone how much you wanted to, but after months in isolation, you were craving human interaction enough that you got over it. Reaching up, you adjust his tie, smiling cheekily at him. "Thank you, Agent Rogers. You look really sharp in that suit too. The color really brings out your eyes."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's a really great cut on you."

"Well thank you, Agent Carter."

"Agent."

"Agent."

 

Dean mutters something about you both being dorky morons, while climbing into the car.

Before buckling in, you lean up to talk to Dean, giving Sam an unexpected eyeful down your shirt in the rearview. "Hey Dean, can we stop for a snack on the way?"

"You two and your Hobbit meals" Sam teases, trying to ignore the swell of breast visible in the mirror.

You slide back into your seat behind Sam. "What? Can't plan for the day on an empty stomach, Sam. First, we take the edge off the hunger so we can plan our day, then we eat second breakfast somewhere strategic, like the police station while we read the reports."

"That's at least easier to understand than how you can eat right after a morgue visit." Sam kids.

"What? If I stopped eating just because I saw something gross, I'd be thinner than Garth."

Dean nudges Sam. "She has a point brother."

Sam just shakes his head at both of you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man it is hard to find pictures of Sam smiling . . . Let me know if you catch the many, many references . . . one is from Buffy.


	14. Arseways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and the boys are on the case and tensions are building. Flashback includes a special guest: The King of Hell :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day Readers. Love you!

The police station was a bit of a bust. They have only one of the suspects in custody, the most recent one. The others have been released to their homes on bail until their arraignment. You spoke with the teacher whose sole explanation was that she felt it was her turn to go somewhere for a change. The mechanic/tow truck driver said she needed a new car, and the coffee barista said he was done having people scream at him for confusing their orders. None of it made sense. The local PD copied the files for you without question, but they didn't have the medical records from the hospital yet, so you all took a detour there before splitting up.

On the way to the hospital, you read over half the files again in the backseat while Sam does the same with the other half in the front, and Dean drives.

"You can't catch being a sociopath right?" You joke. Your smile falters as you see Sam and Dean exchange a meaningful look. "What?" They exchange another look that seems to say 'you want me to or should I?'

Dean takes the question. "If they lost their soul, they might act like that. Why?"

"Well, these are entirely selfish motivations and mostly petty crimes and sloppily executed, but more importantly none of them showed any emotion when explaining what they did. That's the clincher. Those are qualities of a person with antisocial personality disorder at the least, but the impulsiveness and poor social skills suggest sociopath over psychopath. Psychopaths are charming and clever."

"Maybe they're in shock, or maybe drugs or mind control, and that's why there seems to be a pattern of those behaviors?" Sam tosses out.

You shrug. "Maybe. We'll have to see the tox screen and psych eval if there is one, but to me, they seem like people that are done giving fucks about anything but what they want. And _that_ screams sociopath."

The hospital provided you with a fourth lead and the needed medical files: a bakery store assistant who was treated a few days ago for injuries he received after he got into a fight with a would-be bride over her wedding cake order. She was on her honeymoon at the moment, so she wouldn't be any help, but apparently only her speedy use of mace and defensive use of her chair kept her from serious injury with a cake knife.

Heading out of the hospital, Dean chuckles. "He was a man with a love of sugar and nothing to lose."

You and Sam give him a disapproving look.

"What? The file says he told the paramedics he just wanted to eat the pretty cake. He was tired of always making them for other ungrateful people and it was his turn."

Your look of disapproval changes to a look of disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. He was diabetic and sick of making cakes he couldn't eat or afford."

You shake your head to clear it. "OK wow. Talk about a sugar meltdown. Sam, you want the bakery or the school? We can meet back at the coffee shop after."

"You take the bakery. Those shops are always so tiny."

You nod, giving him a sympathetic frown. "Fair point. I think it's near the coffee shop anyway."

* * *

 

Once inside the bakery, you wait for the rumble of the Impala's engine to fade away before you fall against the door in relief, closing your eyes. _Ah the sweet air of freedom from sexual tension. Why does he have to look so hot in that suit? A few more minutes in that car with the way he smells and I would pass out._

"Um, ma'am? Miss? Lady? You ok?"

You open one eye and then the other and see a tall, slender male looking at you with big eyes and floppy hair that falls around his eyes. "Yeah, just a long morning. Shouldn't you be chasing college co-eds?"

He grins. "It's my day off. Today, I look after working women in distress."

"Lucky me. What do you have that has chocolate in it?"

"I have samples of chocolate-filled croissant."

"Sold." The radio starts playing a song that made you cringe a little as you started listening to the words.

♪ _Drumming Song_ by Florence  & the Machine♪

_♪There's a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you're around; I swear that you could hear it, it makes such an almighty sound. There's a drumming noise inside my head that throws me to the ground; I swear that you should hear it, it makes such an almighty sound: louder than sirens, louder than bells, sweeter than heaven, and hotter than hell. I ran to a tower where the church bells chime, I hoped that they would clear my mind. They left a ringing in my ear, but that drum's still beating loud and clear: louder than sirens, louder than bells, sweeter than heaven, and hotter than hell.♪_

"Hey, if you leave this song on, I'll pay you for my free sample." You aren't sure if it was helping you vent your pent up energy listening or just driving you further to the edge, but you want to hear it out.

"Don't worry about it. You look like you need both, though, your face isn't into this song."

 _♪_ _As I move my feet towards your body, I can hear this beat, it fills my head up and gets louder and louder. It fills my head up and gets louder and louder. I run to the river and dive straight in, I pray that the water will drown out the din, but as the water fills my mouth, it couldn't wash the echoes out. I swallow the sound and it swallows me whole 'till there's nothing left inside my soul, as empty as that beating drum, but the sound has just begun. As I move my feet towards your body, I can hear this beat, it fills my head up and gets louder and louder. It fills my head up and gets louder and louder. There's a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you're around; I swear that you could hear it, it makes such an almighty sound: louder than sirens, louder than bells, sweeter than heaven, and hotter than hell._ _♪_

"Yeah. . . . it's not the song's fault. It's what it represents."

He smiles in a teasing way that's almost familiar. "So why do you want me to leave the song on?"

"The song is sort of a cruel, but accurate accompaniment to my current state of mind."

He raises his eyebrows. "That being the case, I've got a better song for you. Hang on."

♪Ooh Child (Things are Gonna Get Easier) by The Five Stairsteps♪

♪Ooh-oo child, Things are gonna get easier. Ooh-oo child, Things'll get brighter; Ooh-oo child, Things are gonna get easier; Ooh-oo child, Things'll get brighter♪

_♪Some day, yeah; We'll get it together and we'll get it all done; Some day, When your head is much lighter; Some day, yeah, We'll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun; Some day, When the world is much brighter♪_

The second you recognize the song, you start smiling, and you just can't stop. You held out a hand. "Solid call, sir. Agent Margaret Carter, FBI."

"Tom Forester, my folks own the coffee shop next door."

"Well that's handy. I was planning to stop there next."

"You're here about the customers we had that went sort of crazy, aren't you?"

"I am. I'm also here to ask about your pie."

"It's the best."

"Excellent. What can you tell me about the other day?"

* * *

After dropping you off, Dean gave Sam another look. "We should look into whether or not these folks lost their souls. We might need to call in a consultant."

"Like Cas?"

"His way is messy."

"A reaper?"

"I was thinking a crossroads demon."

"You were thinking Crowley." Sam looks like he swallowed a bug.

"Look, I know things got ugly the last time we saw him, but Cas isn't here and that was months ago. So maybe we can all just move on and do our jobs."

Sam nods as Dean drops him off at the elementary school, but he isn't sure Dean remembers things clearly.

* * *

♪ _Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?_ by Arctic Monkeys♪

 _♪The mirror's image tells me it's home time, but I'm not finished 'cause you're not by my side and as I arrived I thought I saw you leaving carrying your shoes decided that once again I was just dreaming of bumping into you♪  
  
♪Now it's three in the morning and I'm trying to change your mind; left you multiple missed calls and to my message you reply, "Why'd you only call me when you're high? Hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?"_ _♪_

About four months ago, Sam was with Dean and Cas at a bar, waiting. Sam was a little worse for wear as they'd been at the bar for a while discussing the case that Crowley was helping out on.

A week before they left on the case, Sam sent you a text.

>   **Sam:** Hey. Haven’t seen you for a while. You wanna come out of the Mines of Moria and play some Munchkin tonight? Or maybe have a Lord of the Rings marathon?
> 
> **You:** Sounds like fun, but I don’t wanna lose my rhythm right now. Just really caught up in helping Kevin and getting the library digitized. I think it’ll make our lives so much easier when it’s done.

Sam read the reply text, caught between too many conflicting emotions to name, and shoved his phone in his computer bag before it had an accident.

Just before leaving, Sam found a note you'd left him:

Hey Sam, sorry I've been MIA. I just have some things that came up that I need to process. I'm not ready to talk about it, but it's not you. It's really not.

 _♪Somewhere darker talking the same shite, I need a partner (hey). Well, are you out tonight? It's harder and harder to get you to listen, more I get through the gears incapable of making alright decisions and having bad ideas♪  
  
♪Now it's three in the morning and I'm trying to change your mind; left you multiple missed calls and to my message you reply, "Why'd you only call me when you're high? Hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?" ♪  
  
♪And I can't see you here wonder where I might? Sort of feels like I'm running out of time; I haven't found what I was hoping to find  
You said, "You gotta be up in the morning, gonna have an early night. And you're starting to bore me, baby. Why'd you only call me when you're high?"_ _♪_

Meanwhile, back at the bar, Sam had no idea what to make of your messages, but they certainly didn't make him feel better. Would the note have said something different if it _was_ about him? Probably not, was his guess. His new friend, José, agreed.

Castiel tried to be helpful without revealing the things he knows that he shouldn't know. "Perhaps the reason she has taken some time apart is because she isn't sure how she wants to _act_ on how she feels. She gave me some similar advice once. Perhaps you both need to take this time to determine how you want to act on those feelings. Or perhaps she needed some time to figure out how _she_ feels."

"Maybe you're right. It's like Dean said . . ."

Dean groaned. "Oh, _balls_ , what? _What_ did _I_ say?"

"You said, _why me_? If she wanted a one night stand, I’m _not_ the logical choice. She knows me; we’re friends or were . . . are, who knows? . . . She’s not the sort of person that would use me knowing that I don’t tend to go for that sort of thing. Even if she’s more attracted to me than you, you’re not _so awful-looking_ that she couldn’t overlook that if all she wanted was to blow off some steam.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, listen, Dean; so if that logic tracks, then she wanted more than sex. If she wanted more than sex, then there’s only one logical reason why she’d suddenly act like she wasn’t interested in more.”

Castiel just buried his face in his hands. “I’m afraid to ask what you’re overwrought brain came up with as an approximation of reason."

“Maybe she _did_ want more, but now that she’s tested the water, she decided she doesn’t want it . . . want _me_ anymore. Maybe she changed her mind because of something I said . . . or did . . . or something . . .”

Cas grew tense and silent in his chair. “I cannot imagine anything more terrible. I hope you are wrong. I didn't think the heart could change so quickly.”

Dean took a sip of beer keeping his eyes focused on his bottle. “Depends. If that’s what happened; it was something big, for her anyway.”

Sam nodded miserably. “Maybe I didn’t do _anything wrong_ like her note said, but _maybe_ something I did reminded her of someone that hurt her, and she couldn't see me the same way anymore.”

“So it wouldn’t have to be a big thing then, it could be something little?” Dean considered.

“Yeah.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this, Sam, but that _might_ be true. _But_ even if it is, it’s not that her feelings changed; they’re just buried under fear and armor now.”

“You _would_ know something about that.”

“Shut up. I'm trying to help you: you need to get under that armor.”

A voice about as sympathetic as gravel and just as smooth chimed in, "Did you _finally_ have sex with the girl, Moose?"

"How is that any of _your_ business, Crowley?"

"What do you have for us, crap weasel?" Cas growled.

"Ooh, _crap weasel_. Branching out are we?" Crowley sneered, suddenly over Sam's shoulder. "Come on, I thought we were besties. Let me in on the girl talk. I'm nearly caught up anyway. So Moose and your usual lovely companion, Twilight Sparkle, have finally gotten down and dirty, and it's _all the drama_. I'll ask you again, have you two actually gotten to full shagging?"

"Not your business, Crowley." Sam snarled.

"So that's a ' _no_.' Maybe she wanted someone who would put out, Moose . . . If all she wanted was sex, and you didn't _actually_ put out, maybe she thought pursing a sexual affiliation with you was going to just be 'too complicated' to be worth the effort? It's a _reasonable_ conclusion on her part. Surely that's not _too large_ of a leap, even for you. You like to mate for life. Of course, in _your case_ , that's rarely more than six months."

Sam looked about ready to throttle Crowley, but Castiel held him back.

"Come on, Samantha. It's no secret that you're romantic partners have the life expectancy of a carnival goldfish, whereas Squirrel's partners live longer, but his interest is generally equally short-lived."

Castiel let go of Sam, and only Dean stepping in front of both of them stopped an all-out bar brawl.

“So, since you and Twilight Sparkle have put things on a _Sherlock_ -level pause, mind if I take a pass at her?”

“Crowley . . .” Sam growled in warning.

“Like you’d have a chance, Fagin.” Dean snarled.

“Ohhh, someone’s been reading from the dusty tombs . . . Or perhaps she’s already been out test driving for a suitable replacement . . . Maybe that's where she is _right now_.”

Sam’s eyes went dark, while Crowley continued..

“Oh, I’m not saying you aren’t her first choice, Moose; I’m not a mind reader. I’d have to get _inside her skin_ to know what makes her tick . . . and if you haven’t managed . . . well, much as I'm sure I'd enjoy it, I don't fancy my chances with her . . . _willing_ anyway . . . I’m just saying a woman has _needs_ ; I doubt they’re going unmet one way or another . . . and you and squirrel are hardly at the bunker _all the time_ . . . Tell me, Moose, are you running through a lot of batteries in the bunker, lately?”

“Shut _up_ , Crowley.”

“Or perhaps, she’s shifted her focus to someone else, _closer to home_ . . .” He looked pointedly at Dean. “Of course, she’d be looking in vain, but who knows? . . . maybe Dean’s feathered-friend won’t mind sharing . . . or maybe a _certain_ angel could slide inside her meat suit, so Dean finds that option more . . . shall we say . . . _familiar_.”

Dean got one clean right hook in before Crowley finally decided to stop dicking around and tell them what he came to tell them.

* * *

Sam doesn't remember what Crowley had to say, but he remembers forcing himself to sit still while wanting to peel Crowley's skin for suggesting he'd hurt you or that you'd just run out to the nearest body . . . _No. NO. Crowley is **wrong**. I might not be sure about what the hell **is** going on here, but I did **not** imagine her playing with my hair last night . . . and now I'm a thirteen year old girl . . . that fits. __Thirteen_ _year old girls play with each other's hair . . . fuck my life . . . OK. That's **it**. I need to focus on the case and stop focusing on the subtextual meaning of ____ playing with my hair and adjusting my tie. _

Resolved, Sam heads into the school to see what he can dig up about the teacher who decided to go to Vegas instead of taking her class to Niagara Falls.

* * *

After about an hour of questioning primarily middle-aged teachers about their colleague, Sam climbs back into the Impala. The brothers agreed to wait to discuss the case further until they met up with you at the coffee shop, so Dean focuses on navigating the town while Sam stares out the window, lost in thought. Dean didn't need to be a psychic to know what Sam was thinking about.

It only took the length of a song for Dean to bring up the only other topic of interest. "So things between you and _____ seem to be getting back on track . . . You, ah, need me to find another place to stay tonight?"

Sam is unamused. "Doubtful. Outside of last night and a few sporadic text messages where I ask her to do things and she'd 'love to, but can't,' I've barely talked to her all summer. I hardly think she's gonna jump me later tonight."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, about that, Sammy. Look, obviously I like ______. She's great, but I mean you keep running into some sort of wall with her for what? Six months now? How are you _still_ in pursuit here? She's been running hot and cold since March, and now it's time for Oktoberfest." He knew why, but he wanted Sam to say it anyway.

"Because . . . Part of it is that I actually just miss hanging out and working cases with her. And part of it is that there's something haunted in her eyes since we started . . . _things_ , and it's familiar. I want to wait it out. I mean it's not like she is moving on. No matter what Crowley says, if she was seeing someone else, Kevin would know, and _he_ would say something."

"Wait, is that bullshit Crowley fed you a few months back the reason you don't want to make a damn move?" Dean is so irritated that he nearly slams on the brakes.

"No."

Sam's tone is so sullen that Dean _knows_ his brother is full of shit. "Uh huh. Come on man, that limey bastard was just messing with you."

"I _know_."

"Clearly, you don't."

"Fine. Well, what if Crowley _is_ right, and she _has_ decided she doesn't want . . . anything . . . _physical_ with me anymore?"

Dean chuckles. "Yeah, about that, Sammy . . . I kind of happen to _know_ that's _not_ the case."

If Sam was phoning in his responses before, Dean has his _full_ attention now. "How could you _possibly_ know that? Did she say something to you?"

"Not on purpose." Dean snickers.

Sam continues to give Dean a strange combination of puppy eyes and bitchface.

"Look, I wasn't sure I should say anything, but let's just say that when I came back to our room with breakfast this morning she was asking for you in a _really_ different way than when she was tangled up on the floor a few minutes later."

"Dean . . . come on."

"I'm telling you Sammy, it was all Divinyls and _Blisters in the Sun_ when I walked in there. She was rolled over onto your pillow and moaning your name. I can't believe you didn't hear it."

"Uh huh."

"Sam, again, would I lie about this? You're being ridiculous. I _know_ what she means to you. She wants _you_. Just make a move already."

Sam huffs out a breath, frustrated and resolved even as he let himself start to hope. "We're not there yet. We just got her back on a hunt with us. I've _barely seen_ her _all summer_ unless we were talking shop. Right now, we need to at least have a _real_ _conversation_ without her heading off to Dagoba for a month."

Dean looks over at Sam, shakes his head, and then affected a chipmunk like voice. "Boy it sure ain't easy being Sammy's penis . . . If something doesn't happen soon, I'm just gonna pack up my balls and leave."

Sam rolls his eyes, _almost_ smiling against his will. "Look, Dean, I don't think getting in her pants is the solution to everything. We tried that . . . twice, and it ended with my clothes on fire, _literally_. Clearly, acting on . . . _whatever_ you walked in on . . . isn't what we _need_ right now. What we **_need_** _to do is_ to just wipe the damn slate and start over. I tried it your way; this time, I'm doing it _my way_."

Dean pitches his voice again. "Oh, man . . . I _never_ get to have any fun anymore . . ."

"Shut up, Dean!"

" . . . I just keep getting called to attention, but there's never a parade . . ." Dean continues.

"You better not do that when she's around."

" . . . I just wanna do the 21 gun salute, but all I get is drop and give me 20 in the shower . . ."

"I'm gonna drop _you_ in a minute."

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Forester Coffee and Cakes, Tom walked you through the bakery incident. It was about as hilarious as it was sad. You couldn't wait to see Sam's laugh when you filled the guys in. You did a thorough sweep of the bakery, but there was nothing there that indicated why the "frosting specialist" flipped out on the bride-to-be aside from the usual stress factors associated with making a wedding cake "bridal perfect."

It took longer than you were proud of to realize why the kid-Tom-looked so cute, but once he started grinning at you with a smile that was pure sunlight, the resemblance started to come into focus. _He looks so much like a younger version of Sam . . . it's uncanny. If things completely fall apart back in the bunker, I should come back this way in a few years. He just towers over me like a lighthouse with that smile . . . Sam's not around . . . No harm in indulging in my crush by proxy. After all, I have to whole rest_ _of the day to practice acting normal around the man I want to curl around like a cat in heat._

Around lunchtime, Tom is relieved by his little sister in the bakery so he can help out in the adjacent coffee shop with the lunch rush.  Tom boxes a few goodies for the boys up for you and starts making you some to-go coffee for them. "So why is the FBI involved in some random assault charges?"

"We're trying to determine if a chemical agent was used to manipulate people into acting out of character, an anarchy weapon if you will."

"Is that possible?"

"More possible than probably, really. The thing that separates most humans from being sociopaths is a cocktail of hormones in their body that allows them to emote and form attachments. If that delicate biochemistry is tampered with even a little it causes behavioral disorders. If it's disrupted entirely, it could cause this sort of behavior or worse."

"What could do that?"

"The right combination of synthetically derived or naturally harvested hormones and beta blockers or possibly DNA reprogramming via nanite technology."

Tom's face lit lights up as he slides the first quad shot americano to you. "No way, is that even possible?"

You keep your smile fixed in a way that suggests secrets. "I'm not at liberty to confirm or deny that, but teams are working towards that sort of technology worldwide."

"So basically, whatever the delivery system, it could cause people to suddenly stop giving a fuck about . . . everything?"

"Yup."

Tom snickers. "So you could call it fuck-it-all?"

You laugh back, touching his arm. "Please tell me you got that from _Robin Williams Live on Broadway_."

Tom doesn't answer, he just tucks his face into the crook of his other arm and looks up at you with laughter-filled eyes the way Robin Williams did in the skit to approximate the view of a man going down on a woman until you are laughing so hard you can't breathe. _Even better he's smart and funny too . . . just like Sam. Speaking of whom, I better keep an eye out for Sam. Even if he's not into dating me, he'd be weirded out if he saw me hitting on some random co-ed. I mean **most** guys are at least a **little** territorial over women they've seen naked, that's like a normal biological imperative, I'm pretty sure._

* * *

Dean eventually gives up on throwing his voice into Sam's pants and turns on a local radio station. _The Weight_ comes on just about the time Dean spots the coffee shop and starts scouting a parking place. Dean sings along, changing the words like when they were kids, to coax Sam out of his funk.

" _I pulled into Nazareth, I was feelin' about half past dead; I just need some place where I can lay my head "Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?" He just grinned and shook my hand and, "No", was all he said, Take a load off Sammy, Take a load for free. Take a load off Sammy And you put the load right on me (You put the load right on me)_."

Sam is smiling again and shaking his head by the time they park. "I will admit that last night was weird. I mean we've given each other neck rubs before, usually on hunts, but I don't remember it being so-"

"Much like a Penthouse forum letter?"

"Yeah."

"I'm telling you man, she's into you." Dean walks up the steps to Forester's Coffee and Cake and sees you flirting with the guy behind the counter who is _clearly_ into you. "Son of a bitch." He turns back to Sam. "Hey Sam, man, this place is full of hippy food. Can we grab some burgers and have ____ meet us there?"

"Don't we need to talk to some people here? Check the place out?"

"Probably not. I didn't realize the bakery was actually part of the coffee shop this morning and by now, I bet she's got all the information we need. We can just get some lunch and move on to checking out their homes."

"OK, let's get ____ and get some lunch then."

"She's interviewing someone."

"Then we can wait for her to finish. Why don't we just bring her with us?"

Dean's still blocking Sam's way.

"Dude, what's going on?"

"Look, just don't freak out."

Sam catches a glimpse of you through the glass door from the street. "Who the fuck is that guy practically drooling into her cleavage?" He felt like an idiot for getting so excited earlier over you adjusting his tie and sticking up for him when Dean was teasing. _How could I let myself get so excited about basically nothing? I’m not a freakin' teenager anymore._

"Sam, calm down man. It's just a kid. He's gotta be like what? 18, 19 at most. She's just working the case."

"Clearly."

"You have _barely_ seen her for months man; how are you this jealous? She's not exactly your girlfriend."

Sam tried to hide behind his bitchface, but there was that uncomfortable, slimy feeling under his skin again. "Thanks Dean, rub it in. Very sensitive."

"Come on man, I'm sure it's not like that. She flirts with me too, remember? If she's into him at all it's just because that kid looks like you at that age."

Sam takes a closer look. He's not mollified by Dean's point that she flirts with him too, but he has to admit the kid looks a lot like a younger version of himself. "Yeah, I guess."

"Come on man, tall as a wookie, stupid hair . . . also like a wookie."

"Fine." Sam turns and walks a few stores down, collecting himself.

"Sam . . . the hell man?"

Sam walks down a side street, leaning against a brick wall and running his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. It's just . . . last night, it felt like old times, like we were getting back on track. Then waking up wrapped around her . . . I just . . . it _all_ came back. I  _missed_ her. I forgot how much I missed her. She's not some girl I hooked up with a couple times on a hunt. She's my friend; she's _been_ my friend for over a year now. How long has it been since anyone has been in our lives consistently for that long other than Cas or Bobby?"

Dean pats Sam's shoulder bracingly. "Well, she's here now and so are. Just calm down, and be the guy she keeps eyeing up when she thinks no one's watching."

"She does that?" Sam looks at his brother sharply.

Dean reaches up to cuff the back of Sam's head. "You're a fucking moron sometimes, you know that? Why would I make this shit up? To make you look like a dumbass and have even more high school drama angst around here? Nobody wants that, Sammy, _believe me_."

Sam considered. "Huh. Well, I mean she's not blind after all . . ." He shoots a smirk that's mostly bravado at Dean.

Dean shakes his head. "Shut up, and get in there. Let's act like law professionals, for pete's sake."

Sam follows Dean back to the cafe. He tries to keep it together when he sees you still talking to the kid at the counter, but his eyes are harder to calm than the rest of him.

Dean and Sam wave to you and take a seat by the windows. “You know, that kid really does remind you of you when you were living with that hunter family in Connecticut for a few years while you finished high school. What was that places called? Star Crater or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Didn’t you wear a green apron too when you worked at that market? What was it called?”

Sam grits his teeth. “Doosie’s. It _may_ have been similar.”

“I’m telling you Sam, right now, while she is questioning your 18 year old doppleganger, she is wishing you were the one looking for lint in her bra like a sniper.”

Sam rolls his eyes. "Nice try Dean."

* * *

Inside the coffee shop, the bell on the door rings, pulling Tom's attention to the door. "You meeting someone here?"

"Yeah, why?" You see Sam's face and realize your hand is still on Tom's arm. "Oh fuck."

Tom looks away from you when you pull your hand back like it's been caught in the cookie jar. "Jealous boyfriends?"

“Do I look like the sort of girl that can keep two boyfriends happy?”

He blushes. “Yeah, you kinda do.”

Now it was your turn to blush. "More like protective brothers."

"Doesn't look that way to me."

"Well, I didn't say they were _my_ brothers, but they're not my boyfriends either."

"Either way, I don't have a chance."

"Awwww, what makes you say that?"

"Because either of them could _clearly_ take me, and the one about my height is _clearly_ into you."

"You think so, huh?"

"Yeah; and you're _clearly_ into him."

"That obvious?"

"To me anyway, but do me a favor and tell him I just wanted to help you with the case and discuss a career in law enforcement."

"Looking for a reference?"

"No, but tell him I am. It'll help while you two figure out whatever is clearly going on."

“How will it help?”

“Well for one thing, he’ll be less likely to rip my arms off, which is the look I’m getting from him right now. It’s always wise to let the wookie win.”

You looked over at Sam and Dean and smiled before turning back and giving the kid a real smile and your card. "Solid advice, C3PO." _Damn . . . looks, brains, good taste in music, and geek culture chops . . . if I were looking . . . but Tom would only ever be close enough when there's . . . Sam . . . Yup, rather have the real thing._ "Thanks for the information. If you think of anything else give me a call on my cell."

"Sure. No problem. Hey, by the way, he’s damn lucky to have someone that can quote _Star Wars_ fluently, but if he forgets, you’ve got my number."

You gave Tom a grateful smile. _It was sweet of the kid to say that. Sam's just being protective like always, anyone could misread that and, again, if Sam **was** jealous, it was just a 'normal limbic response to seeing a former paramour with another male' . . . right? _ You head over to Sam and Dean and sit down with your to-go coffee, casually touching Sam's hand in a way you hope will be calming. _Sam is always so protective when guys hit on me. It's really sweet. It's nice to feel like things are getting back to normal . . . like maybe I haven't screwed everything beyond repair . . . of course they're fine. I took precautions. I removed myself before I could to real damage. I protected him . . . protected our friendship. We're going to be fine; I just need to remember my lines._ “Very subtle entrance, guys.”

“You try being subtle over six feet tall.” Dean grumbles.

"Aww, Dean I'm just teasing. I have three double barrel coffees, no flavoring, no sugar, no foam, just big and manly, the way you like them." They're not technically coffees, but Dean doesn't need to know that.

"Don't you mean the way _we_ like them?"

"Meh, Sam and I have been known to enjoy a latte."

Dean winks at you. "Yeah, you have." You and Sam make awkward eye contact before Dean continues. "There's a grill down the street. Let's go get some lunch and hash out our next move."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have overdone it with the pictures . . . oh well :)


	15. Banjaxed (Broken)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work on the case continues as tensions start to break, and Crowley comes by to stir the pot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy March Madness!!! And when I say that I mean it's mad how many updates there will be this month! 
> 
> FYI: Pacey Witter is a Dawson's Creek reference: student sleeps with teacher. Also, Dean may have channeled his inner sass for this chapter . . . just a little.
> 
> For anyone who would like to be entertained by conversations between me and my muses: http://ladyataralasse.tumblr.com/ tag fanmail or S&B until I come up with something better.

♪ _Suspension_ and _Rosebud_ by Jeff Beck♪

You and Sam follow Dean out to the bar and grill Dean found: _Mackinaw's_. Once your orders are in, your collective attention turns to the case.

Dean tips his drink at you. “Find out anything useful?”

"Apparently, the 'Frosting Specialist' didn't follow a bride's instructions correctly on the cake."

Dean snorts. "A _'Frosting Specialist'_? Seriously?"

You glance at Sam to see if he's laughing, but he barely cracks a smile. "Yeah, I thought you two would enjoy that. So, when the bride started talking it out with the 'frosting specialist,' he started eating the cake in front of her, like the day before her wedding, just taking big handfuls and eating it in front of her."

Dean and Sam stare at you while you pause dramatically, clearly not understanding the danger in the man’s actions until Dean finally grunts, "I take it that was like waving a red flag in front of a bull?"

You roll your eyes. _Boys_. "Yeah, pretty much. So, she started yelling, and he pulled the cake knife-I have no idea how he thought that would do much, but I guess if he used enough force-anyway, then she stopped him by blinding him with pepper spray and knocking him out with her chair."

Dean sat back, picturing it. "Damn."

"Yeah. Tom said she was a pretty laid-back bride too, not one of those crazy bridezilla bitches."

"Tom, huh?" Dean got a look on his face like he didn’t like the taste of his coffee all of a sudden.

"Yeah, Tom: the guy at the counter also works at the bakery in between getting his associates degree online." _Great, now Dean’s acting all territorial too._

"Sounds like you two had quite the conversation."

Dean’s clearly baiting you, and it’s so ridiculous it’s annoying. “I guess.” You see something cross Sam’s face that seems uncomfortable. He's barely spoken since you sat down. _I guess that confirms it: nothing particularly significant about Sam being protective either. Damn it._ “Sweet kid. He wanted to talk about getting into the field of law enforcement.”

"More like he was searching for the meaning of life in your underwire," Dean snarks.

You roll your eyes, missing Sam giving Dean a look that clearly told him to 'shut the hell up.' _What is Dean's problem? Is this still about what I said this morning? He's been riding me all day._ You decide to play along with Dean’s crap as a quiet way of calling him out and getting him to knock it off."Oh Dean, don't be that way. I was thinking of you the whole time. Look in the bag in the car, I even got you a personal-sized apple pie.” You lean over to Sam conspiratorially. “We get cupcakes."

Dean sees the exchange and excuses himself, muttering and choking on his laughter. "Just keep it down while you enjoy them."

Sam shoots Dean a dirty look. "Try not to have an _American Pie_ moment with your pastry, Dean."

You laugh and pile on, "Yeah Dean, that pie filling would be hell to get out of that suit." Dean glares at you both and heads off. When you and Sam finish laughing, you give Sam a look that is pure sentiment. “I missed _this_ : being on the case with you and Dean . . . Ganging up on Dean with you . . .”

Sam smiles back, finally starting to thaw out. “Really?”

You drink some of your coffee. _You can do this. Be Monica Gellar. Just be breezy, but don't **say** it . . . _ “Yeah, I know I’ve been sort of reclusive for the last few months, but it wasn’t because I didn't miss _this_. I just . . . had a lot in my head, and I sort of needed to cut out additional input as much as I could, so I could sort it out.”

Sam holds his cup with both hands, nodding, but not making eye contact. “So . . . you’ve sorted it out then?”

“Not all of it, but I think as much as I can on my own. I can’t figure _all of it_ out hiding in the stacks, you know?”

He looks up smiling warmly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do know. Well good, I’m glad you’re sorting it out.” Sam drinks more of the coffee you got them. "This isn't just coffee is it?"

"Nope. Quad shot americano, but if I told Dean that he'd get prissier than the sort of Suits that _actually_ order from a cappuccino machine."

Sam chuckles at you. "You always were good at getting Dean to be cultured on the sly."

You wink at Sam. "It would be impossible without my silent accomplice backing me up." You and Sam clink your travel cups as Dean comes back, and thoughts turn back to the case. "So Sam, how was your school teacher?" Sam and Dean look at you, and you realize how that sounds. "I mean that in the least ‘Pacey Witter’ way possible."

Sam just shakes his head and smiles. "It was honestly really boring. No one had anything bad or questionable to say about her until this. No signs of anything weird at the school. She's at home now with her platonic male roommate on bail."

Dean nods. "Yeah, my tow truck gal was pretty well-liked too. No complaints or concerns; garage is clean. Even the selection of cars at the shop were boring. The charges are about to be dropped, actually." Dean drank more coffee. "You check the bakery and the coffee shop with the E.M.F. too?"

"Yeah, no dice in the coffee shop or the bakery."

Dean is clearly impressed that you remembered to cover all your bases. "What did you tell the kid?"

"I told him I was looking for DNA-altering nanites or traces of personality-altering biological warfare."

Dean snickers. "I love when you talk nerdy. We need to check their houses, see if there's anything there." He pats your shoulder affectionately. “Great job, Agent Carter; you’re shakin’ that rust right off your paint job.”

“Thanks, Agent Barnes.”

Sam listens to your familiar exchange with Dean. _Maybe I did_ _give too much weight to this morning. She’s being cute with Dean too . . . But she acts like we have some secret club that Dean’s not part of . . . so that’s something._

The burgers come, and you and Dean dig into them with relish: 8 ounces of custom blended ground sirloin, brisket, and dry-aged chuck. You and Dean close your eyes after the first bite, faces drawn in alternating expressions of deep mediation and complete ecstasy.

Sam eats his grilled chicken breast, but keeps getting distracted as you and Dean start making food-sex noises. "Are you two ok?"

You nod slowly, taking deep, cleansing breaths in-between swallows. "I'm in a state of juicy meat nirvana."

Dean lets out a deep groan of satisfaction. "I think I'm having a burgasm."

"No kidding; this is the best piece of meat I've had in my mouth in a long time." _Like six months . . ._

Sam clears his throat, but Dean chimes in right over the _obvious_ awkward moment, "Me too. The bun's perfect, buttery smooth, yet sturdy."

Sam starts looking around the room, hoping no one else is overhearing this.

"I want to take this meat home and have its babies for leftovers." You moan. "I never want it to end."

Sam tries to shush both of you, but after a few murderous looks, he resigns himself to heading to the rest room to jerk off in a stall shortly after you and Dean finish. _At least I brought my laptop bag._

While you and Dean wait for Sam, you both enjoy the aftertaste of your meal.

"My stomach has bonded with that burger, Dean. We are one. Like the _Lion King_."

"Or the Force that surrounds us and penetrates us and binds us together with that burger."

You snicker. "You said 'penetrate.'"

“I did.” Dean snickers back. "Man, what is up with you? Your mind is taking up residence in the gutter lately."

You shrug evasively. "Post-hibernating-in-the-bunker friskiness?"

Dean smirks at you as you notice Sam walk over to you both. " _Uh huh._ Let's all get to checking over those houses."

* * *

 

♪ _Loose Canon_ by Jeff Beck♪

Three hours later, you still don't have much to go on, but it’s around dinner time, so you all head back to _Mackinaw's_ , which turns out to have wifi to go over your collective case notes.

Sam types on his computer while you all confer. "Well, the only physical evidence is a few scratch marks outside the windows of the houses."

"Striga?" Dean offers.

Sam shrugs. "Maybe, but none of these houses have kids, and no one's sick."

"And only one person could definitely recall the bedroom window being open the next day," you add. "Would a striga make people act like sociopaths?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, it would make them fall into a pneumonia-like coma, but if something stole their soul, that would explain it."

Dean forces himself to _not_ make eye contact with Sam. Eventually, you might start to wonder why he does that every time the question of stolen souls comes up he looks at Sam. "I was saying to Sam earlier that we should call in a consultant to see if any of these people are missing souls."

You're confused. "Why?"

Dean cocks his head evasively. "A soulless person tends to act like someone who's developed a sudden case of 'fuck-it-all'."

You snicker. "Yeah, 'fuck-it-all'; that was actually _exactly_ how Tom put it when I was questioning him."

Dean rolls his eyes, affecting the voice of a Chippette. "That's how _Tom_ would put it. He's so _big_ and _smart_ . . ."

"Shut up, Dean. He's obviously not _that_ smart if I managed to con him with all that nanite talk."

" _Please_ , his brain fell into your wonder bra, and he spent the next two hours of his life searching for it so he could form a clear thought again."

"Like it's my fault he's too young to have enough control over his balls to smell a con."

Sam clears his throat, trying to change the subject. "So the nanite thing is a load of crap?"

"Oh no, completely possible, theoretically. OK, getting back on point," _And off of Dean's weird obsession with Tom._ "Is there anything related to a Striga?

Dean shakes his head. "Not that I've heard of."

"I mean Striga are basically chi eaters, like Succubi and Inccubi, right?"

Sam nods. "They are, but I've never heard of a soul eater."

"OK, so we need a consultant. So who we gonna call?"

Dean mutters into his beer, "We ain't afraid of no ghost."

You and Dean grin while Sam excuses himself to get a round of drinks.

You turn to Dean. "Could Cas help us do a soul check?"

Dean shrugs. "Maybe." Dean's purposely evasive. He doesn't think you know about Sam's stint with being soulless, and he certainly isn't going to spill the beans.

* * *

Meanwhile at the bar, Sam hears a familiar and unwelcome voice while waiting for two lagers and a stout.

"Hello, Moose; how are things? I see you and Squirrel have your lovely companion along with you again." Crowley leans against the bar beside Sam, both man and demon watch you laugh with Dean.

"Crowley." Sam growls, not turning. Dean’s doing some Ghost _Busters_ impression for you, and you’re joining in, and then doing your own.

"That Twilight Sparkle, always blowing hot and cold. I don't pity the man that fancies her. You'd never know where you stand. What's the matter, Jolly Green? Is the lovely alicorn still stringing you along? Maybe she just likes having a big, dumb Moose for a pet. I'm sure you make a lovely bed warmer in this weather."

Sam forces himself to not give Crowley the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he put the beers on their tab and walks back to the table, while Crowley continues to make commentary.

* * *

While Sam makes his way back with the drinks, Dean's phone starts to ring. He flicks it open and listens, giving brief affirmatives every few sentences before ending the call and turning back to you. "We have a body."

"Who was that?"

"The police station, the teacher's roommate just killed her."

"What? How?"

"Apparently, she was not planning to take him to Vegas, and he stabbed her with a shoe."

A new voice cuts into your conversation. “A very rare Manolo Blahnik, as a matter of fact: a designer’s sample … at least they’re red, but it seems a waste to have then spend the rest of their days in an evidence bag. Hello, Squirrel, Twilight Sparkle.” You turn to see Sam return with Crowley hovering nearby. You shoot Sam a curious look, as he seems unduly angered by Crowley's appearance, but put it aside for now. "What are you doing here, Crowley?"

"Lovely to see you again, poppet. You've been away for awhile now. Been avoiding me, have you?"

"Been busy; you?"

"Busy? Busy doing whom?"

"Get to the point, Crowley," Dean growls.

"Ooh, not very polite, Squirrel. I see your trusty boyfriend isn't here to back you up."

You give Crowley a sultry smile. "Come on, Crowley. Why are you really here? Just to jerk us around? I thought you had better options than that."

"You flatter me, poppet. As it happens, I am here because the recently deceased teacher owed me a debt. I was coming to collect, but she seems to have no means of payment, most curious."

You and Dean look at each other in confusion while Sam shoots back: "So she _is_ soulless?"

"Very good, Moose. You would know something about that. Yes, I purchased her soul _months_ ago for that pair of shoes and a hundred others like it, but now it's gone."

"What'd she ask for, Crowelella? 101 designer creations?" You scoff. "You know what? Who cares? So, when she signed her soul over for shoes, she had a soul _then_ , right? I mean, you _did_ kick the tires first to make sure she had one?"

Crowley's expression sours. "If you must know, my associate did _not_ do a full inspection; he merely detected a soul present."

You shake your head. "OK, but what does that have to do with the other deaths? Or her death for that matter? Why would her roommate stab her with a shoe over a trip to Vegas?"

Crowley shrugs. "Maybe nothing. Maybe he was done trying to escape the 'friend zone.' I hear life gets pretty rough in the 'friend zone.'” Crowley winks at Sam and then you, managing to do so without either of you noticing both winks.

Sam tenses, but you just fire back at Crowley. "The 'friend zone' thing is a _myth_ , Crowley. You either _have_ chemistry with the person, or you _don't_. If you do, it doesn't matter how long you've been friends, you still see them _differently_ even if you never think about seriously _acting_ on it. _But_ if you don't have chemistry, then you don't, and it's _never_ going to be there. You can't coax it into being. That lack of chemistry is one of the two situations commonly mistaken for the 'friend zone.' The other is when you're attracted to someone and have chemistry, but for whatever reason don't feel romantically-inclined towards them. You can't force that either. It’s ineffable.”

Crowley smirks. _Little Lamb is making this **far** too easy_. “Sounds like you are quite the authority.”

You snort at him derisively. “I could write the paper, teach the class, and design the curriculum.”

Dean cuts in, "Fine, so they didn't have chemistry or whatever, and so he _stabbed her_?"

"Or perhaps, _he_ was romantically inclined towards her, and _she_ did _not_ share those feelings." Crowley offers.

"How would we tell?" Sam snaps, trying to get things back on track. "Sometimes people do things that don't make sense. Sometimes nice people hurt other nice people . . . _Sometimes_ people say one thing when they're feeling another . . . sometimes a person acts like they're OK when they're dying inside . . . Who knows? What we _know_ is that this woman is dead and missing her soul." Dean and Crowley all stare at Sam a minute in complete silence before he continues. "So, five people now are making life choices of varying degrees of inconsistency with their personality. Is there a monster that consumes souls the way a chi eater consumes the life force? Because if so, it may have been feeding slowly on each of these people to cover its tracks. It just finished with her recently, so there was nothing to consume and then fed on her roommate or whatever."

Your brain is too busy synthesizing data and theorizing to really pick up on the barely concealed subtext to Sam's rant. "If she was having her soul slowly siphoned off, she'd be far more likely to sell her soul for a pair of pumps." And reject her foxy roommate _. . . Good thing I didn't say **that** out loud. Dean's been on my case enough today._

"Never underestimate the lure of couture, Princess Sparkle. I bet you'd look fetching in red stilettos." Crowley's frown deepens. "Perhaps . . . but if one is loose here, someone has some explaining to do."

"Then it looks like you better go find Lucy and have her do some 'splaining, little Ricky." You make a dismissive gesture. "Boys, I'm going to snag us a to-go menu. I don't know about you two, but I'm bored with this scene. You guys want me to order for you?" Sam and Dean both give affirmative grunts, while keeping their eyes on Crowley.

* * *

As soon as you walk away, Crowley excuses himself to make a call, pulling out his cell phone.

Dean tries to shake off watching the train wreck in motion that is you and Sam right now and gives Sam a look. "What's with _you_ and the over-share theory?"

Sam rounds on Dean. "What the hell was with _you_ _earlier_? Taking about that guy at the cafe?"

"Hey, I was just doing that to prove to you and your crazy Sasquatch-self that she's _clearly not into him_. Could she have called him a kid a little more? She practically said, 'he's a poor man's Sam.' "

Sam shakes his head, brushing Dean's words off. They just bounce off of Crowley's, which are still orbiting Sam's head like cartoon stars. "Whatever. She's just working the case, like you said. You call Cas about the soul check thing. I'll search for soul eaters."

* * *

Over by the bar, you look over the menu while covertly watching Sam and Dean. Crowley's gone, and Dean is making a call outside, while Sam busies himself on his laptop, working through his beer like a man on a mission.

You finish perusing the menu, make your selections, and then sit back to keep an eye on the room -a.k.a. Sam- and wait for your food. A voice over your shoulder startles you out of your covert stare.

"Knockwurst? Seriously? You're eating your feelings, you realize that right?"

"It's bangers and mash. You of all people should know that's not German."

"You're still eating something that looks like-"

"Shut it, Crowley. I have demon mace." _Thanks for ruining that order; I’ll get a damn sandwich. Accuse me of eating phallus food . . .Jackass._ You give the bartender your order.

Crowley tries a new tactic. "Look at him sitting there, the gentle giant, our Moose. Surely, _he'd_ never cast you aside just because you weren't on the same page. If Moose wasn't interested in you, he'd certainly _never_ take you to bed. That's not like the Jolly Green Giant. He'd stop things before he did anything that might . . . _sully your reputation._ Or is that _exactly_ what happened? Moose is preserving your virtues because he's not sure if he wants to . . . _buy the cow_?"

"You callin' me fat, you little troll?" Your eyes narrow, and you feel the mother of all raging bitch fests rising up.

"Never darling. Were you interested, I'd happily show you the more . . . private side of my powers _right here_ on this bar. I'd even let those morons watch . . . Maybe let Moose see what he's passing up."

You feel the familiar pain reach up. _No; don't go there. He's just messing with you like always. It's Crowley. Don't let him see it get to you._ "Sam's not like that. He's different. He'd never do anything to hurt me intentionally."

"What? Do I need to quote my bestie, Hades, here? _He's a guy_!"

You turn to level a shot of demon mace at Crowley's head, but he's gone. _I'm not gonna let Crowley into my head. Sam is **not** like that. _

Another fifteen minutes pass, and then your food is ready. Tucking the spray bottle back into your coat, you pay the tab, grab the bag and head back to the table to collect the guys. You look over at Sam. _Sam looks so tense sitting there and miserable somehow. He hasn't seemed himself since we split up to ferret out information in town._ His hair is falling forward onto his face, almost into his beer. You move to brush it back behind his ear.

Sam sees you out of the corner of his eye at the last second and brushes your hand away, getting up. He regrets it immediately, but he can't put Crowley's works out of his head, and he's seen you bait too many cons with small touches like that. _Like that 'kid' in the coffee shop._ "We ready to go?"

You're stunned; his tone was so abrupt. _What did I do?_ "Um, yeah. I've got the food. They have a fish special that looked good, the bartender said it's been popular today. So I ordered that for you."

 _Ah, the bartender, yet another guy you've wrapped around your finger to get what you need, in this case: information._ The thought came to Sam unbidden. He knows it's unfair, but he can't seem to shake it off. He tries to answer you as neutrally as possible, but his answer comes out sounding clipped anyway. "Great. Sounds good."

* * *

 

Back in the Impala, tensions are high. Dean puts on the radio just to get some sound in the car, but as soon as the next song comes on, he nearly turns it right back off.

_♪Every Rose Has its Thorn♪_

_♪We both lie silently still in the dead of the night; although we both lie close together we feel miles apart inside. Was it something I said or something I did? Did my words not come out right? Though I tried not to hurt you, though I tried, but I guess that's why they say every rose has its thorn, just like every night has its dawn, just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song, every rose has its thorn. Yeah it does.♪_

_♪I listen to our favorite song playing on the radio. Hear the DJ say love's a game of easy come and easy go, but I wonder does he know? Has he ever felt like this? And I know that you'd be here right now. If I could have let you know somehow, I guess. Though it's been a while now, I can still feel so much pain. Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals, but the scar, that scar remains.♪_

_♪I know I could have saved a love that night if I'd known what to say, instead of makin' love we both made our separate ways, and now I hear you found somebody new, and that I never meant that much to you, to hear that tears me up inside, and to see you cuts me like a knife, I guess. ♪_

Back in the motel room, you try to shake off every ghost from your past currently haunting your brain, while Sam tries to convince himself that you aren't jerking him around on purpose. Dean watches both of you imploding, trying to decide whether he should do anything. Sam changes first-back into jeans and his layers of flannel and jersey-then Dean takes a turn in the bathroom.

You go last so you can take a shower and try to wash off Crowley's words. Sam is just outside the bathroom when you grab your clothes to change. "Hey Sam, can you unzip me? I can't listen to Dean make anymore comments about my choice of professional dress wear."

"Why are you always so worried about what Dean thinks?" The words spill out before Sam can stop them, but once he hears them, it seems like a damn good question.

You turn your head to look at Sam whose face is focused intently on your zipper. "What?"

"Never mind; I can't unzip you if you're turned towards me."

You turn back without another word.

"There; can you reach the rest?"

You feel behind yourself and find the lowered zipper at your waist, in easy reach. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Sure. That's what I'm here for."

You didn't miss the sarcasm in his voice, but you did miss the tone of defeat as you turn to go into the bathroom, closing and locking the door without another look. _It's happening again, isn't it? I'm driving Sam crazy. Two days together and he's sick of me. He doesn't want me around anymore. Everything I did that used to be cute and funny is now annoying and juvenile. I can't, I can't, I can't. . . . Not again. Not with Sam._

You twist on the shower and curl on the floor with your face in a towel, so they can't hear you cry.

* * *

Dean doesn't miss seeing or hearing any of your exchange with Sam. As soon as you were in the bathroom, and he heard the shower water come on, Dean turns his focus to Sam, who is still _clearly_ about to pop. "Sam, what the _hell_ is up with you? You're not letting that little leprechaun pull your strings _again_ , are you?"

"Demons don't always lie, Dean, OK? Words I never thought I’d say, but Crowley makes a good point."

Dean looks at his brother derisively. "About _what_? The case?"

"That and-"

"No!" Dean's hand came down on the table, silencing his brother before he could say another syllable, his voice a low growl. "Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence. Don't you _dare_ indulge in that _crap_ **_again_**. If you can't believe anything else, believe _me_. I've watched you _both_ for the last hour, and your cold shoulder treatment is _obviously_ _hurting her_. I'm not going to begin to decipher what that means, but _knock it the hell off_."

Sam nods and goes back to researching on his computer without another word.

* * *

You finish your shower and change. Back in the main room, you keep your eyes as far from Sam as possible. Sam's sitting at the table by the door working on his computer while Dean looks over notes on his bed. They've both _clearly_ eaten while you were trying unsuccessfully to drown your pain in the shower. You open your laptop up and sit on the bed you're sharing with Sam, trying to read through articles on chi suckers and soul eaters.

After you finish picking away at your takeaway dinner, Dean’s crashing and goes to brush his teeth, but you’re not tired yet. When Sam goes to brush his teeth, you take advantage of Sam leaving the room to head outside for a minute. You mumble something to Dean about forgetting something in the car, but he notices you don't even bother to take the keys from his jacket. You barely think to grab your own.

♪ _Devils Don't Fly_ by Natalia Kills♪

It's cold outside, but you barely feel it next to the cold inside you. The motel door cannot close behind you fast enough. _Fresh air. I need fresh air._ You suck in deep breaths, sitting on the hood of the Impala, and trying to conjure all the happy thoughts you can: all the arguments for why Crowley is wrong, and Sam's behavior has nothing to do with you.

_♪I heard the angels call again; I threw myself a party; Chardonnay and oxy; I stopped the screams inside my head; I remember when you had me; Floating high like Sid and Nancy; They say it's not the answer but I can't carry on; 'Cause I got nowhere, no one, without you boy I'm done; And when I'm gone, remember you're the one; And just because I fight don't mean that I never learned how to love♪_

You can remember the last round of this so well, the last guy who left . . . the words he said 'to make it easy,' to cushion the blow with mud, to blur the water. You remember the way he said you could trust him, the way he said you could depend on him, the way he said he'd always be there, the way he said he'd never leave, never give up . . . the way his back looked when he walked away that last time.

_♪You know devils don't fly (fly, fly); So don't expect me not to fall; Devils don't fly (fly, fly); But God we almost had it all; But I got chains and you got wings; You know that life ain't fair sometimes; Devils don't fly (fly, fly); But I try♪_

_But that wasn't Sam._ If you keep saying that maybe it will ease the pain, but the truth is, the memory is still that-a memory-frozen in time and nothing can change the truth of what happened. Nothing could change the way you tried to keep that last guy in your life, in some way, when he didn't want to be there. The way the harder you tried to make it work, the faster he slid through your fingers like sand.

_♪What's a girl to do when she's not strong; When everyone that holds my hand; Gets cut from all the thorns; I used to put my ear against the wall; To hear the screams, to hear the fall; More reasons to escape it all; And it's not the answer but I can't carry on; I give my best smile, my last dime; But I'm always getting wrong; It's not 'cause I'm young or from a broken home; Maybe I just fight 'cause I don't know where I belong♪_

It wasn't just the guys either. You were so lost after some of those abandonments that no one could stand your pain, least of all you. One by one your friends turned away, drowning in your pain, they swam away to save themselves. You didn't blame them, but you were alone just the same.

_♪Angels were never meant to fall; And you were the loveliest of all; If I thought God could fix it; I'd pray for your forgiveness; But I've been cast down, thrown out; When I crossed to the other side♪_

No matter what you said or did you had to face the truth: things between you and Sam weren’t like old times and from the looks of things they aren't going to be anytime soon. _Sam obviously doesn’t want to be much more than friends. If Sam wanted to be with me, he would’ve said something. He’s a man, and he’s faced down the devil, literally. If he wanted more from me, he’d just say it. He’s had plenty of chances . . . But I **can’t** lose him entirely . . . not like the others . . . I just can’t._

_♪You know devils don't fly (fly, fly); So don't expect me not to fall; Devils don't fly (fly, fly); But God we almost had it all; But I got chains and you got wings; You know that life ain't fair sometimes; Devils don't fly (fly, fly); But I try♪_

* * *

 

“Not tired?” Sam’s voice beside you draws you back to reality.

“No.” You aren't quite ready for him. You aren't ready for Sam to see you.

"Too much coffee?" He's trying to keep his tone light, but the mood is anything but.

"No." Unconsciously, you keep the car between you, shielding you from him.

“Too many thoughts?” Sam takes a step towards you.

“Yeah.” You can feel him trying to close the gap, but you're not sure you want him to come closer.

Sam takes another step, like he's approaching an alley cat. “About the case?”

“Not really.” You can't keep the reproach out of your voice now that he's asking the right questions.

"I'm sorry about before. Crowley, just said some stuff . . . " Sam was facing you now, and his apology had you turning to look at him.

Your arms wrap around yourself, protectively. _Don't look him in the eye or you'll break. Then you'll just be the girl that cries all the time. The fragile, needy mess they all run from. Hold your shield up._ "Yeah, me too."

 _Say Something by A Great Big World_ (covered by Jasmine Thompson)

Sam's trying to get you to just look at him for a second so he can see some of what you're thinking. “You said you've been sorting out some stuff in your head, do you mind telling me about it?”

 _Oh, what fresh hell is this? Why would he think that **now** is a good time to talk this out?_ “Some of it had to do with some angst before the bunker and some before I started hunting.”

“What sort of angst?” Sam's trying to be patient, but he's been needing these answers for months.

You start pacing slowly. “The kind where you lose friends, but not from monsters.”

"Are _we_ friends __________?"

The question catches you off guard like Sam shook you, but you mange to answer. "Yes?" You _hate_ that you can't keep the question out of your answer, but it's clearly there for both of you, so you may as well say it.

 _Fuck; here goes nothing._ “Then _why_ have you been avoiding me?”

 _Because you’re my friend, and I wanted to protect you._ “I was just dealing with things. I didn’t want to lose you while I figured it out. I just had to take care of _me_ for a while.” _Please don't tell me I lost you. Tell me we can get past this._

 _♪_ _Say something, I'm giving up on you. I'll be the one, if you want me to. Anywhere I would've followed you. Say something, I'm giving up on you. And I am feeling so small, it was over my head, I know nothing at all. And I will stumble & fall, I'm still learning to love, Just starting to crawl._ _♪_

Sam's voice starts out level, but there's a tone in it that has you frozen. “After that note you sent me, I _wanted_ to believe that it 'wasn’t about me,' but if that were true, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t let me be there for _whatever_ you were going through. Any time Dean and I were home, I was in the library, working, making myself as available as possible, but you _barely_ spoke to me. So no, you didn’t lose me. I was _right there_ the whole time trying to be your friend. _I'm here, right now._ I mean yeah, we’ve barely talked in months except the occasional text, but that was mostly because _you were avoiding me_ , so I tried to stay out of your way.”

“I’m sorry Sam. I couldn’t. It was something I had to go through on my own.” _Please don't push me away._

There's a question he has to ask. It’s been gnawing at him for months. “Why did you leave me a note? If it was really _not_ about me, why didn’t you just _tell me_ that?”

A chill races through you that has nothing to do with the air. Your mind races frantically for an answer Sam will understand. “Because I couldn’t find the words . . . I could barely explain it to Kevin.” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you see something in Sam’s eyes shift and _know_ you’ve said the wrong thing. _Not again._

__

“So you could tell Kevin, but not me . . . because Kevin is your friend and I’m . . .”

“Sam, it’s not like that. I’ve just been friends with Kevin longer. That’s all. I shut him out most of the summer too.”

“But not _all_ of it, not as much as me.” Sam voice is so quiet, but it sounds deafening.

 “Or Dean or Cas; it wasn’t just you.”

Sam tries to keep a hold on his anger, but after months of being shut out, there is just too much pain boiling up, so many unanswered questions. “Yeah? Well all these months, I thought I did something wrong. I thought you were upset with _me_ because of something that happened between _us_.” Sam runs his hands through his hair in frustration, taking his turn pacing.

Your breath is coming rougher now as you struggle to explain, but there's anger too. _I had my reasons, damn it, good reasons. I have to make him understand._ “I wasn’t mad at you Sam. I . . . it’s not that simple. I was upset, but it’s not your fault. I mean it’s nothing you need to apologize for. It’s just stuff I needed to work through. It wasn’t about you. I didn’t disappear to hurt anyone. I just was going through something, and I couldn’t find the words, in fact I’m still not sure I can explain it. I mean _I’m clearly not_ right now. My point is that _nothing_ about the last six months was your fault. If there is fault, it’s mine, but I’d prefer to think it just _was_. I can lay my stuff at someone else’s feet too. Believe it or not, I was trying to keep you from getting caught up in me dealing with it to protect you, not trying to hurt you.”

“Well you _did_ hurt me.” _There I said it. It's out there._ Sam hears nothing but silence for a long minute while his words echo between you.

 _Oh no. What have I done?_ “I’m catching up on that. Honestly, Sam I didn’t mean to; I would **_never_** _mean to hurt you_. I just kind of got absorbed by some old demons, and I couldn’t just shake it off. I had to just sit with it for a while. I thought it would be worse if I explained it.”

“ _Come on,_ you had an easier time talking to that coffee shop kid than me.” He can't keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“That’s because I don’t care if I ever see _him_ again.”

“ _What_?!?” Sam just gapes. _In what world does that make sense?_

“ _You're_ my friend; you're not some stranger. With you . . . lately . . . I’m _constantly_ worried that I’m going to screw up and make things _more awkward_. "

“Yeah? You're not the only one feeling that way! I can’t keep walking on eggshells worrying that I’m going to do or say the wrong thing, and you’re going to just disappear. I can’t do it anymore. So either we talk this out enough that we can at least be around each other as _real friends_ or . . . or maybe you should go back to hunting with Garth.” _Did I just say that? I can't believe I just said that._

 _OK; that escalated quickly._ “Sam . . .” _Deep breath._ “Is _that_ what you want?”

 _How does she seriously think I could **want** that? If I didn't care, I wouldn't be shouting. I wouldn't be fighting for our friendship outside some crappy motel instead of working the case. _ “No, I _don't_ want that, but you’re not talking to me _at all_ lately, which amounts to the same thing."

"I _don't want that,_ Sam." **_How_** _did I miss how this was hurting him?_

Your voice is so quiet, Sam almost has trouble hearing you, but his patience is wearing thin, so he can’t temper his words, even though, clearly, you’re about to break down. " _What_ is it that you don't want ______? Going back to hunting with Garth? Avoiding me? Talking it out?"

You close your eyes. You just can't look at Sam right now if you are going to be honest about this. You don't have the strength to see his now-obvious pain and be honest about what you need. "Right this minute . . . any of it." _I need time to process the fact that I've been torturing you all this time so I can make it right._ "Look Sam, right now, I don't want to really dig into this. I am exhausted. We are on a case. This is not the time. But I do want to talk about it at some point because I don't want to avoid _anyone_ anymore -never did- and I don't want to go back to hunting with Garth." _I want to hunt with you. I belong with you, whether that means researching in the bunker or working a case._

 _♪_ _Say something, I'm giving up on you. I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you. Anywhere I would've followed you. Say something, I'm giving up on you. And I will swallow my pride, You're the one that I love and I'm saying goodbye. Say something, I'm giving up on you._ _♪_

Sam runs his hands over his face again. "Fine." He goes back into the room without another word. He heads for the bed, throwing back the covers and yanking them back over himself, turning to the wall.

You follow him. It's dark, but you can see him throw himself into bed. You've never seen Sam like this before. Not with you anyway. You crawl into the sleeping bag beside him and heave an enormous sigh. The tension feels like you have writhing pythons in the bag with you, wrapping tighter and tighter. _That was a stupid call not talking about it. How did I think I was gonna sleep knowing that Sam is there next to me and clearly hurt?_

Dean must sense a disturbance in the force, because in spite of how tired he said he is, he gets up and leaves the room. Moments later, you can hear him rooting around in the Impala.

You're about to roll over and try to say _something_ to Sam, when you feel the weight shift so hard you almost fall out of bed.

Sam rolls towards you, his voice clearly still upset. "You may not want to keep avoiding me but, surprise, surprise, you're doing it again! Right now!"

"Sam . . ." _Why can't you see how much you mean to me? That the only reason I've been hiding away is because I can't handle the idea of losing you? That the idea of losing you scares me so much, I can't find the words you need to hear. I'm terrified that if I don't find them soon, I'll lose you anyway._

Sam can hear you making some sort of choked off noises, but he has to say this, has to make you see. He's still whispering, so his voice comes out in a long, furious hiss. "You're avoiding having any sort of actual conversation about this! I get that you say your issues aren't me, but I've got issues too, and _right now_ , most of them are _you_. If you don't want to talk about it here or now, then fine, but at some point, if you want to keep _this_ . . . what we have, you're gonna have to let me in. You can't just disappear once we get back to the bunker and think I'm gonna be patiently waiting in the library to hear from you . . . Again!"

"Sam . . . I wish I knew exactly what to say to you right now." _I have to at least tell him how much his friendship means to me. That's not too risky. I can do that._ You can feel him about to start in on you again, and take his hand to keep his attention. You can feel his entire body tense the second you touch him. _Wait Sam. I can't stop and start now that I've started. I'll never get through this._ "I didn't realize until now that any of _this_ was anywhere near as hard on you as it's been on me. I don't know if you can believe that, but it's true. For what it's worth, _not talking to you_ for the last six months has felt like trying to breathe without lungs . . . so I'm not going to disappear again after this hunt . . . unless you want me to, because no matter what's between us or not, I never want to feel that way again."

It's not exactly what Sam was hoping for, but his mind seizes on one thing you said: '. . . _not talking to you_ for the last six months has felt like trying to breathe without lungs . . .' It's so close to how he's described the last few months without you around to himself -like trying to breathe without a ribcage- that it softens his frustration. _You need ribs **and** lungs to breathe. Maybe we're not so far from the same page on some level . . ._

You can feel Sam's hand tighten on yours, and you can see his eyes are wet, just like yours. You have no idea if it's a good idea or not, but you roll towards him into a hug, and it's a long time before either of you let go. While you hold onto him, all you can hear is the sound of Sam's heart and breath under your head. Neither of you says anything. After months of tension and separation, the relief of that simple contact is too overwhelming for thinking or talking.

When Dean's key jiggles in the lock a while later, you and Sam roll away from each other. Dean crashes into his bed fast and hard, and Sam's breath evens out not long after, but you don't really sleep that night, you just lay there, eventually turning back to watch the back of Sam while he sleeps, while you replay every time you've been left before and every mistake you've ever made where Sam is concerned. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banjaxed means broken in Irish slang. Sorry everyone. I cried too. A LOT. It gets . . . there's more. Just trust me. Anyone who needs hugs, is welcome to let me know. I will be passing them out.


	16. Donnybrook (Fight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel joins the hunt as the case comes together. Things between Sam and reader come to a head with a not-so-gentle push from the King of Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the music: OK, the one song in here that I have for a Sam moment is definitely nothing I can see Sam listening to, BUT the frantic pace of the song and the lyrics fit the scene perfectly, which I still think is more critical.
> 
> This chapter went a really different place than I expected it to, but once it went there, it was clear that it had to and that it was overdue. Sam needed it. Don't get too scared or too worried. The best case interpretation isn't true mostly and the worst case is definitely not true.

_♪_ _30 Minutes by t.A.t.U.♪_

_♪Out of sight; Out of mind; Out of time; To decide; Do we run? Should I hide? For the rest Of my life. Can we fly? Do I stay? We could lose; We could fail; In the moment it takes to make plans or mistakes_

Dean finds you the next morning, pouring a mug of coffee from the previous day that you scavenged from the car and drinking it cold while picking at a tiny complimentary box of dry cereal. “Whoa, tired there, crazy? If you give me five minutes, I can run out and get a fresh cup for you.”

“It’s called an addiction, Dean.”  _An entire night spent thinking, listening to Sam breathe, and I still have no idea what to say to him._  Your thoughts circle back to talking to Sam the night before in bed . . .

> _"Yo_ _u're avoiding having any sort of actual conversation about this! I get that you say your issues aren't me, but I've got issues too, and right now, most of them are you. If you don't want to talk about it here or now, then fine, but at some point, if you want to keep this . . . what we have, you're gonna have to let me in. You can't just disappear once we get back to the bunker and think I'm gonna be patiently waiting in the library to hear from you . . . Again!"_

Trying to respond . . . every word felt like it weighed as much as a v8 engine . . .

> _"I didn't realize until now that any of this was anywhere near as hard on you as it's been on me. I don't know if you can believe that, but it's true. For what it's worth, not talking to you for the last six months has felt like trying to breathe without lungs . . . so I'm not going to disappear again after this hunt . . . unless you want me to, because no matter what's between us or not, I never want to feel that way again."_

And that moment when he pointed out that you could talk to Kevin, but not him, when he started to realize that it had something to do with him even indirectly . . .

> _So you could tell Kevin, but not me . . . because Kevin is your friend and I’m . . .”_
> 
> _“Sam, it’s not like that. I’ve just been friends with Kevin longer. That’s all. I shut him out most of the summer too.”_
> 
> _“But not all of it, not as much as me.”_

And then when Sam suggested you go back to hunting with Garth . . .

> _“Yeah? You're not the only one feeling that way! I can’t keep walking on eggshells worrying that I’m going to do or say the wrong thing, and you’re going to just disappear. I can’t do it anymore. So either we talk this out enough that we can at least be around each other as real friends or . . . or maybe you should go back to hunting with Garth.”_

It was like being plunged into ice water then and now . . . the idea that Sam had even considered you leave the bunker . . . hunt without him . . . even when Sam reassured you that he didn’t want that, the idea wouldn’t let go, the doubt took root.

Dean’s voice brings you back to the present. “Is that even warm?’

_♪30 minutes, a blink of an eye; 30 minutes, to alter our lives; 30 minutes, to make up my mind; 30 minutes, to finally decide; 30 minutes, to whisper your name; 30 minutes, to shoulder the blame; 30 minutes, of bliss, thirty lies; 30 minutes, to finally decide♪_

“Stone cold and 24 hours old, like that body in the morgue is now.” And about as warm as your tone.

“Heathen.”

_♪Carousels In the sky that we shape with our eyes; under shade; silhouettes, casting shade, crying rain; Can we fly? Do I stay? We could lose; We could fail; Either way, options change, chances fail, trains derail♪_

“You’re right, this does need a little something.” You pour whiskey from a flask in your boot. “Mmm, much better.” _I'm not ready to feel like shit looking at Sam's puppy eyes that just want answers I don't have._

“Um, are you ok?”

_♪30 minutes, a blink of an eye; 30 minutes, to alter our lives; 30 minutes, to make up my mind; 30 minutes, to finally decide; 30 minutes, to whisper your name; 30 minutes, to shoulder the blame; 30 minutes, of bliss, thirty lies; 30 minutes, to finally decide ♪_

“I’m fucking fabulous, Dean. This is the nectar of the gods.”

"Well you look like you’re in about as good a shape as my brother. Did you two crazy kids go hunting last night without me?”

“No.” Your tone is sullen, and you notice, again, how sore your shoulders and neck are. Unconsciously, you start to rub them and think about Sam rubbing your shoulders. _Yeah, I wish._

 “Uh, huh. Look, I’m not big on sharing my own feelings, but if you’re not ok, I think I have a right to know when we’re in the field like this.”

You consider him. “Fine. I’m 'not ok,' but what’s wrong is _none of your business_ , and I won’t let it fuck up the hunt. I just had a rough night’s sleep, and I need to shake it off. Hence, whiskey before food and coffee in the condition I need it most: immediate. Let’s just get to work, and I’ll be _fine_. You of all people know how hard sleep can be for hunters.”

“Fair enough.”

“Where’s Sam? I need food.”

“Showering. When he finishes up, we’ll get food and get going.”

 _I can't face Sam like this. I need fuel first before agonizing guilt and remorse._ “Hey Dean, how about we get food now? Sam can start on research until we get back.”

Naturally, Sam came out of the bathroom at _exactly_ that moment and looks at you, stunned. _What the hell? We always do food runs **together** , or we **both** stay and Dean goes. _

Dean looks between you, thinking the same thing. “Um, that’s ok. Sam's out now. I can just take your order and Sammy’s, _like usual_.”

You don't dare look at Sam. “ _No_ , I need to get out of this room, clear my head. See if it helps put the pieces of the case together in my head to try and identify any people that are at risk for being the next victims."

“Um, ok. We could all do that together.” Dean has no idea where to look. This redefines awkward.

You keep your eyes on Dean's. “No, we need to get started on the monster research too. We need to solve this _fast_ before more people die.”

“Then _you_ should research too. You and Sam are unstoppable at research when you _work together_.”

“I know, but I’m hungry _now_."

“I can bring you _something_.”

“I don’t _know_ what I _want_.”

Sam rolls his eyes, entirely too tired for this. “That’s nothing new.” _But, we all know you don't want me . . . to be the one to get it for you, so that's a place to start._ He manages to keep the rest inside his head, but he's still annoyed with himself. 

Dean mutters. “I know what you _need_ though.”

They both speak in such low tones, simultaneously, that you only guess at their words, but the tone is clear. You snatch Dean’s keys and slam the door. You're starting the Impala up, retuning for a decent classic rock station when you hear the motel door open. You resist the urge to look up and see which brother is coming out.

It's Dean's voice you hear. “Look, I get that you’re pissed. You have a right to be, but don’t drive my baby like that. Scoot over. Let’s go get food.”

You look up and see Dean leaning over you, looking remorseful but firm, and you nod your assent, sliding over. “I’m surprised.”

Dean starts the car, and backs up. “What? That Sam didn’t run out here to lick your wounds? He would have, but I told him you didn’t deserve it.”

You turn and stare at Dean; you couldn't be more shocked if he’d slapped you. "I _certainly don't_ deserve sarcasm from the two of you first thing in the morning just because I'm not sure what I'm hungry for."

" _Please_ , you know _exactly_ what you're hungry for, you just keep waffling on actually _giving in_ to your cravings."

"Are we still talking about breakfast?"

Dean gave you a hard look before turning back to the road. "I think we both know this morning's round of bullshit has _nothing_ to do with doughnuts versus McMuffins."

"Fine. What do _you think_ is has to do with, Dean?"

“You two aren’t playing fair. Look, I get that you might need a break from the tension between you and Sam, but the way you are doing it is making this harder on him. You could have said _something_ to make you taking a break easier on him. You _chose_ to make it awkward.”

You were quiet a minute. _Man, those two think alike. . ._ "Do you mean a break this morning to get food or this summer?"

"I was talking about this morning, but take your damn pick! You didn't say anything to explain what was going on with you to me or Cas either, by the way; you just shut yourself up with a bunch of old hunter records for months. And neither of _us_ got naked with you, so _what the hell_?"

You don’t say anything for awhile and just let Dean drive. "It wasn't about _any of you_ really. It was _my_ stuff, _my_ past, _my_ business. I didn't know how to explain it; I'm still having trouble finding the words. I admit, I didn't think you guys would be so upset given the fact that you _both_ clam up too when you're facing off with personal demons!"

Dean gave an acknowledging grunt. "Your timing was the bigger issue, six months ago and now."

"Yeah? Well, look: I'm not explaining all of it to you before I get a chance to talk to Sam, but what happened between us brought up some things from my past, things that _aren't_ his fault or mine. I certainly didn't choose to have those thing happen to me. I didn't want to dump that crap on him, but the timing was outside my control. I certainly didn't expect all that shit to come up and bite me. Clearly, I could have handled it better, but at the time I was a little overwhelmed, and I couldn't seem to find a way to explain without saying something that would either make things worse, make Sam think it was his fault, or say something that would make me lose him."

Dean slams his hand against the steering wheel. " _How_ the hell can you lose someone if you're _never_ around them?"

 _There he goes again, quoting his brother via sibling telepathy._ "I don't know, but my plan _wasn't that horrible_ because _I'm still on this hunt with both of you!_ "

"Yeah, well _Sam_ is in the motel room hurt and blaming himself right now, so it _wasn't that good_ a plan either!"

You're both quiet again for awhile. He placed the one trump card that stopped you cold: he reminded you that you hurt Sam, that you're _still_ hurting Sam. “You’re right. I’m sorry. This thing between me and Sam . . . whatever it is . . . it's terrifying. I guess I've been having so much trouble facing my own demons that I haven't been able to see how Sam or the rest of you have been dealing with me pulling an invisible girl act. I’ll do better.”

“Good.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m not trying to be unfair to him.”

“I know, but that makes it harder for him, because it makes him feel like he’s not worth the effort.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“Well think about it. Sam needs you to remind him that he matters to you whatever you two decide to do.”

And that sets off your temper again like a match on gasoline. "Of course he matters to me! That's the whole reason I've been in hiding! Because I was trying to protect him!"

"Again: you need a new damn plan for that!"

The next few miles pass in relative silence. If there's one thing you can count on it's that you and Dean are in the same boat when it comes to Sam: protect him whatever the cost. The fastest way to set either of you off is to suggest you aren't doing that well enough.

“We need to stop at Forester's Coffee and Cakes.”

“Why? So you can ease your bruised feelings with the lanky coed?”

“No! Because we’re going to bring _Sam_ a decent, healthy breakfast sandwich, and we can get _you_ a full-sized pie. Nothing like pie for breakfast.”

Dean smiles at you. “That’s more like it.”

You reach over and give Dean's hand a squeeze that surprises you both. "Dean, I didn't mean to abandon you either. I missed you, scoundrel."

"Obviously; I mean _I am_ pretty awesome to be around."

You laugh beside him. "Yeah . . . you kinda _are_."

"Look, don't get mad, but I already knew a little about what was going on with you. But I needed to hear it from you."

"What? How? Did Cas say something? Because he and I have talking about him pulling shit like this-"

Dean cuts you off. "Cas didn't say anything about this. It was Kevin. I was worried about you, ok? I cornered him, and he said things with Sam were bringing up some old stuff for you."

"When was that?"

"I dunno a month ago."

You let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry you were worried about me . . . and that I accused your angel just now."

"First of all: that's sort of my thing; second of all: shaddup. I don’t own anyone."

You snicker, and Dean just shakes his head, and then glances back to you. "So you mad at me now or what?"

"I'm not _mad_ exactly, but why didn't you just ask me?"

"You were hunting with _Garth . . . again_." Dean points out.

" _Again_ . . . sorry." You shoot back.

Dean pulls into a parking spot right outside Forester's Coffee and Cakes. "I'm gonna call the police station and check in on the case. You get me one of those coffees like you got yesterday and some pie."

"You got it, Agent Barnes."

As you start to go inside a tiny part of you sort of hopes Tom isn't working because, clearly, that interaction upset Sam yesterday, but Tom is there behind the counter and his face lights up when you come in.

"Hey, how are you doing? How's the case coming? Did I help at all?"

You smile back at him. It's impossible not to. He's a nice kid. "Yeah, I think so. I mean based on your account, we could determine that all the persons of interest had some obvious commonalities. That helps narrow things down."

"Well good. What can I get for you?"

"Um, one quad shot americano and two quad shot lattés and an apple pie, two cinnamon scones, and three veggie egg wraps all to go."

"Wow. You're really hungry, huh?"

You give him a side smile. "It's not all for me. _We_ gotta fuel up. Busy day of saving the world and all."

"Ah, for your partners. The big one still wanna rip my arms off?"

You smile. "Maybe a little. The pie next door?"

"Yeah, my sister can box up one of the fresh ones for you."

"Thanks. Just gotta keep moving this morning."

* * *

 

♪ _Push_ by Matchbox 20♪

 _♪She said I don't know if I've ever been good enough; I'm a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in; And I don't know if I've ever been really loved; by a hand that's touched me, well I feel like something's gonna give and I'm a little bit angry, well, this ain't over, no not here, not while I still need you, around; You don't owe me, we might change; yeah we just might feel good. I wanna push you around, well I will, I will; I wanna push you down, well I will, I will; I wanna take you for granted, I wanna take you for granted; Well I will♪_  
  
♪She said I don't know why you ever would lie to me; like I'm a little untrusting when I think that the truth is gonna hurt ya and I don't know why you couldn't just stay with me; you couldn't stand to be near me; when my face don't seem to want to shine cuz it's a little bit dirty well, don't just stand there, say nice things to me; I've been cheated I've been wronged, and you, you don't know me, I can't change; I won't do anything at all; I wanna push you around, well I will, I will; I wanna push you down, well I will, I will; I wanna take you for granted, I wanna take you for granted; Well I will; Oh but don't bowl me over; Just wait a minute well it kinda fell apart, things get so crazy, crazy. Don't rush this baby, don't rush this baby _♪_

The second you and Dean left, Sam started pacing the room. He took breaks to get dressed in stages, but he always came back to the pacing.

Sam is dressed, aside from his socks, by the time Castiel pops in.

"Hello Sam."

Sam jumps a little. "Cas? What are you doing here? What going on? Is Kevin all right?"

"Kevin is fine, Sam. _You_ are the one I'm worried about. I could feel your brother's concern, and your anxiety. Also, Dean texted me from the bakery while ______ got breakfast."

Sam gave a forced nod. "Cas, I'm not sure how many more days of this I can do. Hunting together, sharing a bed . . . I keep dreaming that we're together and that things are the way I _want_ them to be . . . maybe a little more X-rated, but _still_ . . . _I want sex_ _too_ . . .  Then I wake up, and everything is broken _again_. I mean, sure, my dreams aren't quite like reality . . . she doesn't _usually_ talk like a porn star. . . OK, maybe those couple of times when we were drunk . . . and almost everything out of her mouth the last two days . . . but honestly, Cas, I'm not even sure that all happened the way I remember anymore . . . because if I _do_ remember it right . . . _How the fuck did we get from there to here?!_ One night she's talking like she's my personal sex genie, and the next morning, she's acting weird and distant and embarrassed, and then it happens _again_ _like a week later_. Then she's avoiding me for months, and now we're sharing a bed like old buddies. This is making me crazy . . . and now she's off with _Dean again_ . . . apparently at the bakery where that kid who's into her works . . . " Sam gestures vaguely at Castiel since Sam only knows where she is from his report.

Castiel gave Sam an incredulous look, debating what to say. "Sam . . . I cannot comment on the rest of your concerns, but Dean is not going to do any-"

"I _know that_ , but she still seems to prefer Dean's company to mine and worry more about what he thinks than . . . anyone else . . . Please don't tell her I said any of this."

"I assure you I will not. Sam . . . I have observed that _sometimes_ people who feel broken have a tendency to self-sabotage. _Sometimes_ , the things they want the most they don't allow themselves to have because they think they'll taint it by association."

Sam's head clears for the first time since he woke up and focuses on everything Castiel is saying. "So you're saying that she's avoiding me because . . . _she_ _thinks_ _she's damaged_ , and she's worried that being around me . . . will _drag me down_?"

"I'm _not_ saying _anything_ about your particular situation. I'm just offering a general observation on human behavior."

Sam nods, feeling somewhat mollified. "If you knew anything specific about my concerns, could you tell me?"

"No, I could not, as it would be either told to me in confidence or something I picked up with my 'jedi skills,' which _____ says is cheating."

"Yeah." Sam gave Cas a small smile. "Yeah, that sounds like her."

"I will offer this, though: She is not at that bakery because she thinks the young man who works there is attractive. She is there because she thinks _you_ will really enjoy their veggie breakfast wrap."

* * *

You have breakfast in hand and Dean is still leaning against the side of the Impala talking. You get in and the keys are still in the ignition, so you turn on the radio until Dean finishes his call to let him focus on the call. When he slides into the car you're listening to  _Summer of ‘69_ .

“NO! No Bryan Adams in Baby! Where do you think we are? Canada?”

"Come on . . . it grows on you. It's nostalgic."

Dean rolls his eyes. "You know what else is nostalgic? This." He slides a fresh cassette in the tape deck and moments later _Don't Stop Believin'_ blared over the speakers.

You roll your eyes. Dean was about as subtle as a 12 gauge shotgun sometimes. "Fine you win. _Journey_ wins."

Dean doesn't turn off the engine when he pulls into the motel parking spot. “ _You_ take in breakfast and get to researching; _I’m_ going to follow up with the police station and meet you both back here.”

You nod, starting to get out of the car. “You want to avoid-"

“Sam? And your fun-filled follow-up conversation with him? Hell yes.”

You nod, grabbing the lattes and food, took a deep breath, and head into the room. You see Sam, sitting on the edge of your bed, leaning on his knees, head in hands and talking to Castiel.

"Hey, Cas, Dean is outside and heading to check out the case status at the police station. Why don't you go with him?"

Cas nods, and you put the breakfast stuff down on the table and go over to Sam.

"Sam, I imagine I'm going to say this a lot for awhile, but I'm sorry about this morning. I _really_ wasn’t trying to avoid you. I just felt like shit because I didn't sleep much at all last night, and I wanted something to eat, so I could think straight."

Sam huffs out a breath, keeping Cas's words in mind. "Why didn't you sleep?" He can guess, but he needs you to say it.

"Because," you gesture between your respective chests, "this. What's going on between us. And I wasn’t ready to see you looking upset and knowing it’s _my fault_ and then trying to figure out what to say and how to do better . . . before I even have breakfast. I wasn't looking to avoid you; I was looking for strength to talk to you."

Sam nods. "OK. Then let's eat something." You frown, confused, but Sam gets up and leads you both over to the table. "What'd you get?"

"I got you this veggie wrap from the coffee shop. It's supposed to be really good. Actually, I got you a couple, since you eat more than me. And I got us scones and quad shot lattés."

Sam smiles at you. "Sounds good. Dean get a latté too?"

"Yeah, no. That's just our thing, I think. I got him an entire pie, still warm from the oven."

You eat your breakfast mechanically for a few minutes before slumping over on the table. "I'm sorry. I really thought I could just sneak out and back and be all ‘bright-eyed and bushy-tailed’ by the time you finished your shower. I never wanted it to become this big thing and then it started becoming this big thing . . . and I was not ready to handle any of it. I suck."

Sam resists the obvious Dean retort. "OK. So let's start over. You're eating. I'm eating. What was your plan after that?"

"Save the people? Hunt the things?" Sam gives you his bitchface. "Fine. I deserve that. I guess I'm just a little emotionally exhausted. I thought we were going to wait to talk about it until after the case is over."

Sam huffs out a frustrated breath. _She’s not the only one who’s emotionally exhausted . . . No, don’t corner her._ “OK . . . So for now, instead of telling me _what_ you’ve been going through for the last few months, how about you just tell me _why_ you didn’t talk to me about it? I mean, I just don’t understand. If it really wasn’t about _me_ , then why couldn’t _I_ help you work it through? And why can't you talk about it now?”

You can see he doesn’t get it. Sam just wants to fix it, so you bite back your temper as much as possible. “Because I don’t want to just be some hot mess, 'damsel in distress' that can’t solve her own problems on her own.” _And because I don't know how you feel about me, so if I tell you too much of the story, you might just run, like all the others._

Sam holds back pointing out how well that was working out for you so far, but you could read his face and you continue. “I know that to you and Dean, it probably doesn't look like that tactic’s working out. And to be fair, some of _this_ , maybe I _can’t_ figure out on my own, but I’ve been solo plenty over the years and this gig is unpredictable. _I_ _have_ _to_ _know_ I can deal with things without someone coming to rescue me just because it gets hard.”

Sam has worked through one wrap by now and reaches towards your hand only to see that it's busy clutching your coffee cup. “I get that, but -me and Dean- we are here _now_. _I’m_ here now.”

 _The pre-law student is starting to come out in Sam . . . If this conversation goes on much longer, he’ll get me to admit something I’m not ready to say yet. Sam’s too damn good at getting people to talk when it’s the last thing they want to do . . . even better than Dean and **that’s** saying something. This part of the ‘why,’ but it’s not like I can tell him **that** without hurting him more._ “Fine, say I’d done it your way and told you all about what I’m processing and you helped me figure it out and then-"

The sound of the Impala pulling back up startles you both. Dean bursts into the room a minute later. "Sorry kids, but you'll have to finish this conversation later. We've got another body, and Crowley says he has a solution. He's meeting us at the substreet pool hall/bar called _Lucky Luke's_ in a few hours after we get a chance to investigate this kill. Night out at the bar attire. We need to blend."

* * *

You and Sam stow your issues, change into appropriate clothes and head out. The body isn't remarkable aside from the fact that it was shot for not using a turn signal by a killer who felt fairly justified killing someone who, 'didn't know how to use the features on their car properly.'

Crowley met you and the boys at the bar and gave you the rundown. Apparently, this was an ancient form of monster that was locked up in Hell as one of the tortures until one of Crowley's rivals for power decided to let it run amok.

Dean caught you and Sam up in the car. "He called it a Kamara. They eat souls, but the souls aren’t digested, just stored. Crowley’s got something to make it cough up the souls. The soul wants to be in one piece, so as soon as the pieces are free, they’ll come back together in their rightful home."

Sam starts looking up the lore on his laptop. "So get this: the Kamera is the origin story for the myth of the camera capturing your soul via capturing your image in some Dorian Gray deal. With the exception of a few cursed cameras, that part about having your picture taken and losing your soul was mostly bogus or at least metaphorical."

Dean nods. "Right, well Crowley has bait in the form of some adro . . . androgynous . . . something like that . . . pheromones that are supposed to make it less shy about feeding."

You nod, as the three of you walk into the bar. "And Thursday night $1 shots at the bar don't hurt either."

Dean grins. "No they do not."

No sooner have you all descended the stairs and crossed the threshold to the bar, than another, less welcome voice joins your party. "Hello boys, Twilight; listen up: this pheromone mixture I've laced the room with will also attract any of its meals-in-progress, so things could get . . . entertaining while we wait."

"And that's why we have zip ties, Fagan." Dean snarks.

Crowley smiles and continues. "It will show itself when it feeds, and it won't be able to stop itself from doing that here with the androstenol pheromones and so many tempting leftovers." Crowley hands you all pouches. "These hex bags will make it cough up the souls to their rightful owners and sedate the beast so I can get him home."

Dean takes one and nods to the rest of you. "Cas, Sam, ____, spread out and mingle. If anyone is acting odd, tie 'em up, gag 'em and put 'em in the storage room."

You all head off to different parts of the bar, scoping the room, people watching. Anyone acting soulless gets bagged. Your big cue was anyone who was being particularly grabby. With two big guys _clearly_ there _with_ you, anyone bold enough to make a grab was suspect for dangerous stupidity at least.

 **♪** _Bent_ by Matchbox 20 **♪**

 **_♪_ ** _If I fall along the way, pick me up and dust me off; And if I get too tired to make it, be my breath so I can walk. If I need some other love, then give me more than I can stand and when my smile gets old and faded, wait around I'll smile again. Shouldn't be so complicated, just hold me and then oh, just hold me again. Can you help me I'm bent. I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together. Keep breaking me in and this is how we will end with you and me bent. **♪**_

 **_♪_ ** _If I couldn't sleep, could you sleep? Could you paint me better off? Could you sympathize with my needs? I know you think I need a lot. I started out clean but I'm jaded, just phoning it in oh, just breaking the skin. Can you help me I'm bent. I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together. Keep breaking me in and this is how we will end with you and me bent. **♪**_

 **_♪_ ** _Start bending me, it's never enough as I feel all your pieces start bending me, keep bending me; Oh, until I'm completely broken in. Shouldn't be so complicated, just touch me and then, oh, just touch me again. Can you help me I'm bent. I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together. Keep breaking me in and this is how we will end with you and me bent, will let them without understanding. Here I go there again. Can you help me I'm bent. I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together. Keep breaking me in and this is how we will end with you and me bent. **♪**_

After the third guy grabs your ass, you wind up breaking his wrist before you can subdue him. Dean helps you move him back to the storage room afterwards.

Dean sees you fussing uncomfortably with the mother-of-all-wedgies. "You ok?"

"Yeah, just real tired of guys treating my ass like a stress ball. I think that last one was checking to see if I have a prostate. He really got up in there."

"Yeah, maybe you shouldn't roam the room on your own given the prey."

"I'll be fine. I'm not traumatized or anything. It's nothing a shower won't fix."

Dean nods, and you both move off.

A couple hours later, the storage room was full of a dozen or so people. Crowley slides up to you while you nurse a beer.

"So Princess Twilight, I hear things with Moose have gotten a bit rocky . . . and here I always thought you two would be splendid together. What's wrong? Bite off more than you can chew? Moose is quite a bit more than a mouthful . . . I imagine."

Your eyes narrow, but before you can form a retort, Sam is at your side. "You shut your mouth Crowley, or I will shut it for you."

"Touchy, touchy, Moose. Best keep your mind on the task at hand instead of in Twilight's sparkly panties."

Sam starts to go after Crowley, but you put a hand on his chest. "Later Sam. We have work to do. Crowley, do you have anything _meaningful_ to contribute?"

"Just wanted to let you know that the 'camera is rolling,' darling." It was your code phrase for Crowley to let you know the monster is in play.

"Where?"

"No idea, luv. Time to earn your keep."

You have a hunch. "Sam, tell Dean and Cas to check out the storage room. I'll keep an eye on things out here."

Sam nods and heads around the other side of the room.

After a few minutes of waiting around with nothing changing from your vantage point, you move towards one of the pool tables and hear another voice at your side.

"So, are they sparkly?"

You turn to see Tom, standing there, looking at you in a way that is downright unsettling, like his gaze can melt off your clothes and again, you’re struck by how much he looks like a younger, scruffier version of Sam. "I'm sorry,  _what_?"

"Your panties, _are they_ sparkly?"

"Tom, are you drunk? Are you old enough to be drinking?"

He surprises you by moving right into your personal space, setting off warning bells in your head. "I'm old enough for all sorts of things, and I think I'd like to start by seeing your panties." He grabs your wrist.

You start to twist out of it when his grip tightens, and you can tell from the look in Tom's eyes, that he's not the same person you talked with at the coffee shop the day before or even this morning. As soon as you see his eyes harden, something in you shifts from human to hunter. Your arm relaxes as everything inside you coils. You smile, but it's a mask. "Tom, I think you misunderstood me just now. I'm just not looking to get bent over the pool table. How about you take me somewhere _more private_?"

Tom grins and moves in to kiss you. You mean to let him kiss you just long enough to knock him out, but Sam's right there in the room, and you just can't fake it. As Tom puts his hand on your jaw to pull you in, you whip your arm up, striking him on his ear with the heel of your hand, hard enough to disorient him.

"Fuck you," Tom snarls.

"Fuck me? You wish." You get free just in time to see all hell break loose.

 _♪Ballroom Blitz (Astralasia Remix)_ by Brian Connolly's Sweet _♪_

_♪Oh it's been getting so hard, living with the things you do to me. My dreams are getting so strange. I'd like to tell you everything I see. Oh, I see a man at the back as a matter of fact, his eyes are as red as the sun and the girl in the corner let no one ignore her 'cause she thinks she's the passionate one. Oh yeah! It was like lightning; Everybody was fighting, And the music was soothing, And they all started grooving; Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah; And the man in the back said everyone attack; And it turned into a ballroom blitz;  
And the girl in the corner said boy I want to warn you; It'll turn into a ballroom blitz; Ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz♪_

Tom's attention is back on you and pinning you to the table while a couple other guys are looking to get in on the action. "Go fuck yourself then."

"If only, pal. If only. I could use a good fucking and at least _I_ know what I'm doing." You wrap your legs around him to pull him closer so you can roll him off the table, using him to cushion the fall. When he tries to get up, you bind his hands behind his back.

Two other guys are coming at you, pool cues in hand, smiling with an eerie calm that contrasts, with their flexing arms. You roll under the table and away, grabbing a cue of your own. Tom's gotten up by then, and he's managed to cut his bindings with a pocket knife, but Sam's there again in an instant. He clocks one of the other two guys coming for you, and knocks him out cold. You stick your cue stick out trip the other guy's feet out from under him. While Sam zip ties both men, you remind him to check their pockets for knives. While you're distracted, Tom, rushes you into the pool table, knocking the wind out of you.

_♪Oh reaching out for something; Touching nothing's all I ever do; Oh I softly call you over; When you appear there's nothing left of you; And the man in the back is ready to crack; As he raises his hands to the sky; And the girl in the corner is everyone's woman; She could kill you with a wink of her eye; Oh yeah! It was electric; So perfectly hectic; And the band started leaving; 'Cause they all stopped breathing; Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah; And the man in the back said everyone attack; And it turned into a ballroom blitz;  
And the girl in the corner said boy I want to warn you; It'll turn into a ballroom blitz; Ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz♪_

You get one swift kick to Tom's groin before you fall over against the table, struggling to breathe. Sam comes over to you in a minute, trying to help.

"Just lost my breath. Tie up the kid while he's whining about his balls. I'm ok." Sam isn't convinced, but he does it. You barely notice. Your breath is back, but every one hurts like hell and takes far too much work. "Shit." You wheeze. You see small bright lights and at first you think it's you blacking out, but they're moving and you can tell it's pieces of souls going back where they belong.

Dean is back by then, while Cas and Crowley wrangle the Kamara, and he takes care of Tom, who is starting to come back to himself.

Sam comes right back to your side. He moves to catch you while you slide to the floor. "I've got you."

You wince as he tries to hold you up and shake your head. "Sam . . ."

"What's wrong? What do you need?" He can tell that just holding you up is hurting you, but he doens't know what else to do.

You can feel more than see the worry running through him. "Lay me on the pool table. Now." You're barely whispering, and it's not getting easier to get the air you need.

"Should I get Cas?"

You shake your head. "I'll be ok. Just help me." You've had this happen before. It's scary and painful, but not dangerous.

"Tell me what to do."

"Lay me out on the table, shoulders down so I can feel the pain better. I need to know where to have you start."

Sam tugs you as gently as he can into position, caught somewhere between not wanting to hurt you and not turning your request into something dirty in his head.

"It's gonna hurt Sam; it's ok. Just do it as quick as you can."

He nods and follows your directions. _This entire trip . . . why is it that every other sentence out of her mouth sounds like porn? And everything I say back . . . makes it worse._

"Now, take an open hand and tap my ribs just under my right breast, like you're bouncing a ball. Not too hard."

All Sam processes for a minute is that you want him to touch your breast, but his brain restarts after what he hopes is a barely noticeable pause. Carefully, Sam moves his hand into place, his own breathing harsh, while he worries about you and tries to not over-think your request.  

"Again. Harder, more pressure towards my sternum. Gotta put the ribs back."

"Damn it." Sam mutters giving you the final tap. "Is _that_ what happened?"

You take a slow, deep, testing breath. "Yeah. Knocked the wind and two or three ribs out of me. _Son of a bitch_ that stings. Roll me onto my stomach and do it on my back, same side." While Sam repositions you, you can't help but think: _Well, guess I'm getting bent over the pool table after all._ A few more taps and you can feel the rest of the ribs pop back in. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." _At least I'm in jeans and not dress pants . . . and thank goodness the lighting in here is low._

_ _

Dean came over, and he and Sam help you sit up. "That little punk really took your breath away, huh?"

"Ha ha, Dean."

"I'm just ribbing you, _____."

"You're hilarious, Dean."

"Yeah. I know."

"Yeah, just a few ribs out. Sam put 'em back."

Dean smiles. "Good."

“For the record, this fight did not happen because I made some girl jealous.”

“No. It happened because soulless people are crazy."

"True dat."

Dean shakes his head, grinning at your slang.

"Where's Crowley? He has questions to answer."

Dean nods. "I'll go get him. You two stay here, make sure that lung's not punctured."

You watch Dean walk off and turn to Sam. "Thanks. Tom was soul sucked. I thought he seemed a little off this morning when I got breakfast, but I wasn't really paying attention. My mistake. I was trying to lure him into a dark hallway, get him in a chokehold before the room turned into a free-for-all."

Sam smiles wanly. "I see. How's that going?"

"He tried to kiss me."

"Yeah, I saw that. You got him pretty good."

"Yeah well . . . I'm not into soulless guys." For a second, Sam seems to get a strange look on his face, but maybe you imagine it. "Then those other guys seemed to get suddenly interested in some pool table gang rape, or at least that's my optimistic version."

"Optimistic?" Sam huffs out. "How is gang rape optimistic?"

"Better than them deciding to play operation, _Hostel_ -style, on the pool table."

Dean and Castiel came over with Crowley, distracting you from seeing the horrified expression on Sam's face while he processes both versions of what could have happened if he'd been a few minutes later.

You jerk your head in Crowley's direction. "So, Lord n' Tailor, is the Camera back in the case?"

"Kamara. Try to keep up, darling. You're getting as bad as Moose and Squirrel."

You roll your eyes. "Riddle me this: Why did everything go to hell out here all of a sudden with the pod people?"

Crowley shrugs "The Kamara must have sensed our trap. It can change the pheromones it releases as a defense mechanism to make its victims chaotic and aggressive."

Dean glares at Crowley. "That information would have been helpful four hours ago."

Crowley shrugs. "Yes, well . . . You're all in one piece, so no harm, no foul, eh? Speaking of useful information, there is a chance this fellow bred while enjoying the call of the wild, so keep an eye out, and call me if another one turns up."

"Yeah, you'll be our first call," Dean deadpans before turning back to you. "Cas and I are gonna make sure the soul-return process took. _____, You ok?"

"I'm fine. I'll just touch up Sam's work at the motel and put some ice on it."

"Alright, you two stay here though. Take it easy. Popped ribs like to pop back out if you're not careful."

You and Sam nod while Dean and Cas get to following up with the victims.

The jukebox starts playing a song that you had been listening to a lot for the last six months, capturing your attention.

♪ _Shake It Out_ by Florence & the Machine♪  
_♪Regrets collect like old friends; Here to relive your darkest moments; I can see no way, I can see no way; And all of the ghouls come out to play; And every demon wants his pound of flesh; But I like to keep some things to myself; I like to keep my issues drawn; It's always darkest before the dawn♪_

Sam sees something shift in your expression while you listen to the song. He'd ask if you're ok, but you're clearly not. "Is it the song?"

 _♪_ _And I've been a fool and I've been blind; I can never leave the past behind; I can see no way, I can see no way; I'm always dragging that horse around; Our love is pastured, such a mournful sound; Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground; So I like to keep my issues drawn; But it's always darkest before the dawn♪_

You answer him without really realizing it, lost in private pain. "Yeah . . . I like the song, but it reminds me of . . . things."

 _♪_ _Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa; And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back; So shake him off♪_

"Such as . . . "

"I wouldn't even know where to start."

Sam huffs out a breath. "Before we got a break on this case, you were saying something about 'what if you told me.' Finish that thought."

You want to pretend you don't remember, but that's a lie and you've lied enough. You've thought about that unfinished conversation often in the last four hours. "OK . . . Say I tell you what's on my mind these days. Best case scenario: you _are_ able to help me work through it. What happens the next time shit gets real? I just turn to you again to help me get through it?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"What if it _is about you_ the next time? Or what if you're not around? I have to know I can take care of myself, Sam. You can't always be there."

"Fine. Don't tell me."

"You two _still_ playing out a poor man's _Pride and Prejudice_?" You'd been so focused on your conversation with Sam, you didn't see Crowley approach. "After that rescue, I thought you'd be at it on the pool table by now."

"What are you even still doing here, Crowley. Don't you need to take your pet home?"

"I had to pick up a few things before I go, first." He holds out his hand to show you a bottle glowing full of soul and the remaining hex bags. "Can't have such dangerous items just lying around." Another wave of his hand and they're gone. "You know I'm surprised at you, Twilight Sparkle. You've been friends with Moose, here for how long? This lovely giant would throw himself in front of you in a heartbeat to protect you, and yet to the outside looking in it seems you still don't trust him much more than you trust me where it counts."

Your eyes widen. _He doesn't know. Crowley doesn't know. He's just speculating. Don't give him ammo._ "What the hell are you talking about Crowley?"

"I'm something of a connoisseur of secrets, luv, and you, my dear, reek of them. Not anything dark enough for my tastes, but potent all the same."

"What secrets?" The words are out of Sam's mouth before he can stop them. He knows better than to help Crowley in his games, but for an instant, Sam's need to know is stronger than his better judgment.

"I imagine it's the same old story: abandonment issues, trust issues . . . you can relate, Moose. Tell you what, luv, come work for me, no soul exchange, just _work for me_ , and I'll make sure you're _never_ _alone again_. I could use a personal assistant topside to see to certain details . . . _certain needs_." Sam moves to lunge at Crowley, but Crowley freezes him in place with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure I can even find you a suitable companion. Someone more manageable than Moose, here. I'll even let you pick the body."

"No." It's not loud, but it's all you can do while you glare through threatening tears.

"You think you _matter_ to them? To _Sam_? Why? Because you've spent _a year and a half with them_? That means _nothing_. You're _allowed_ to stay with them because you serve their needs, intellectual or otherwise, _nothing more_. They'll tell you anything they need to keep you working for them because you're _an asset_. They'll use you up until they decide you're more trouble than you're worth and toss you aside without a second thought because _they can_ , because they think they have some divine mission that makes people like you  . . . _expendable_. You stay with them . . . it's just a matter of time before they leave you behind . . . and that's best case scenario. Worst case: you're dead. There's _always another woman_ _somewhere_ **_dying_** _to be their tool_."

You close your eyes and shake your head. "No. They don't use people. You do."

"No? They might even believe that, but some part of you already knows that I'm telling the truth, or your wouldn't be so afraid of it. Someday, maybe a week or a month, or even a year from now they'll sit you down and tell you how it's best for you to be anywhere but where they are, and you'll never see them again. If you're lucky, they'll have your angel friend neuralize your memory MiB style first."

Your eyes shoot open at that. The only thing that would be worse than losing Sam is forgetting him.

"Well, I should be going. Remember what I said, poppet. If you ever want to be someone else's adventuring librarian, give me a chant . . . _I'd come for you_."

Crowley vanishes, and Sam nearly fell to his knees when he's released. You can't move, can barely breathe, and now it isn't just your ribs weighing on your chest.

"______, you ok?"

Sam puts his hand on your shoulder, and you shrug it off without thinking, immediately contrite. "I'm sorry. I just . . . Crowley. Just need to shake it off."

Sam looks at you, hurt flaring. "You don't _actually_ **_believe_** what he said, do you?"

"No but-" You can feel Sam's hurt turn to anger, but you can't stop it anymore than you can stop yourself from hearing Crowley's words over and over in your head: '. . . _They'll tell you anything they need to so keep you working for them because you're an asset. They'll use you up until they decide you're more trouble than you're worth and toss you aside without a second thought . . .'_

"After everything . . . you'd think I'd _—_ "

Dean was on his way back when Crowley really started to launch into his pitch, but Sam wasn't the only one who'd been pinned. Now, Dean sees all the warning signs in his brother for a major blow out and this is not going to solve _anything_. "C'mon, Sammy, blow off some steam before you have this conversation."

Before Dean can even reach Sam, Cas is beside Dean's younger brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Sam, come with me.”

Sam glances around and finds himself standing inside the motel, still furious and confused. “What the hell did you do?”

“You were about to push her away in a manner that cannot be fixed. I do not want that for either of you. I promised I would not interfere, but I cannot watch you two smite your friendship as well when it’s the last thing either of you want.”

"I'm not trying to _smite_ **_anything_**. Did you _hear_ what he said? What she thinks about _Dean, you, **me**_?"

Cas sighs deeply. "She _doesn't_ think those things, not really. Crowley was just, as Dean would say, 'screwing with you both.' None of us should be condemned for our deepest fears no matter how illogical, Sam. You and Dean know that as well as anyone."

Sam lets out a long growl of frustration, slamming his hand flat against the wall. "Damn it!"

“She’s expecting you to give up on her.”

“What?”

“I cannot elaborate, but I do feel you should know that, Sam."

"I'm not _giving up on her_ , Cas, but we need to talk about _this_ ; it's past overdue."

* * *

With the monster gone, Crowley gone, and the victims waking, it was time to go. Tom wakes before you leave.

"Agent Carter, I am so sorry . . . I have no idea why I . . . I would never . . ."

You nod, offering half a smile. "I know, Tom. It wasn't your fault, just the nanites. No hard feelings."

"Thank you for saving us, for stopping me. If you come by the cafe on your way out, anything you want, on me."

"I might just take you up on that, Tom. Now go home, get some rest and put some ice on your . . . injuries."

Tom nods, embarrassed.

Dean comes over, glaring at Tom. "I called an ambulance. Time for us to meet up with our colleagues back at the motel. Agent Wilson just texted their twenty.”

You manage to hold back your snicker until you were out of earshot of the other civilians. “Agent Wilson? As in the Falcon? Nicely done, Agent.”

“They both have wings.”

“That they do.”

 _♪_ _And I am done with my graceless heart; So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart; 'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn; It's always darkest before the dawn♪_

 _♪_ _Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa; And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back; So shake him off; And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back; And given half the chance would I take any of it back; It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone; It's always darkest before the dawn; ♪_

At first, you and Dean don't talk, in the Impala. You're too sore in every way. But then you think about Sam's face, and the last thing he said before Cas made him vanish: _'You don't actually believe what he said, do you? . . . After everything . . . you'd think I'd—'_

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"How much did you hear of what Crowley said?"

"About all of it. He had me pinned too, or I would have stopped that sooner."

"You know I don't think that about you guys, right?"

Dean looks at you as he pulls into the motel. "Yeah, I know that."

"Good."

 _♪_ _And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't; So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road; And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope; It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat; 'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me; Looking for heaven, found the devil in me; Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me, yeah♪_

 _♪_ _Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa; And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back; So shake him off♪_

You both slide out of the car. "Grab the rubber mallet?"

"Sure." Dean digs into the trunk and hands you the tool. "The thing is, I'm not the one you need to convince."

You look down and drag air into your lungs. "Yeah . . . I know."

"You want me to vamoose?"

"Not just yet. If nothing else, I might need someone cool-headed to help me with my ribs again. Tension tends to pop them back out when they're loose."

"Understood," Dean smiles and wraps an arm around you, kissing your forehead.

That's when Sam opens the door to the motel and for the second time that night, all hell breaks loose.

Sam knows it's completely irrational, but after everything all he can think is that _again_ you're in crisis and _again_ you're leaning on someone else . . . literally. And worse, it's his brother that only yesterday you described as having a mouth like a porn star . . . Cas might be right about Dean's feelings for you, but now it suddenly strikes him: maybe _you_ have feelings for Dean. That _would_ explain a lot . . . _why_ you're so much more relaxed around Dean, and _why_ you've been so confounding around Sam and the issue certainly _would not_ be about Sam in that case. "What took you two so long?"

Dean shoots Sam a disapproving look. "We didn't have Cas beam us home."

You close your eyes, resigned. "OK Sam. Case wrapped. Let's talk."

"How about we start with how you don't trust me?"

"What? Of course I do. That's not what Crowley was talking about-"

"Then what?"

"It's nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing."

"It has to do with _my_ past ok, _my_ business!"

"Which is, of course, none of mine!"

Dean has had _enough_. He moves between you and Sam who are full-on shouting at each other. _Thank goodness this room is at end of the motel strip._ "Hold this damn crazy train -the-fuck- up."

Sam turns on his brother. "Shut up, Dean."

You put yourself back in front of Dean. "Hey, Sam, easy. _I'm_ the one you're mad at, _remember_?"

"Of course you're protecting _him_." Sam knows Dean isn't into you . . . but deep down he can't help but feel that Dean, like Kevin, is getting to be there for you in a way that he's _still_ not and that hot, sticky, jealous feeling that's been creeping under his skin for the last couple days transmutes and flushes through his system like a flash flood.

"What?"

Sam can feel the crazy taking over his brain, but he can't seem to stop it. It's like his mouth has fully disconnected from his brain. "Are you _into Dean_? Is that what this is really about?"

Of all the things Sam might say, that isn't what you expect. "What are you talking about?! Why on _earth_ would you think I am _into_ _Dean_?"

You're both so caught up in the fight that you don't even notice Cas and Dean quietly exit the room.

 _Well, you obviously don't want me._ "You're _always_ worried about what Dean thinks, you're not avoiding being around him, and it _would explain why_ you don't want to talk to me about what's going on with you. What else am I supposed to think?"

"First of all, we're sharing a bed, you massaged my neck, and last night we . . . hugged. I think that all counts as ‘being around you.’ I've barely had _any_ kind of contact with Dean in months. I was avoiding Dean too, remember? Second of all, I was _not_ avoiding you . . . because I don't trust you." _It's because I need you._ "And I am _not_ trying to avoid you; I'm trying to protect you. I'm dealing with stuff, _my_ _stuff_ that is _not_ your fault or your problem, and I don't want you to get hurt because of it!"

"You said all that yesterday! Well newsflash: your plan is failing! Shutting me out, not telling me what's going on with you, and avoiding me all make me feel like it _is_ about me!"

"I was avoiding you because I don't want to lose you! I don't want to fuck _this_ up so bad that you don't want me around either."

Sam is caught so off guard, his volume halves, his emotions cool a little in the confusion. "What? You're not gonna lose me. _Why_ would you _think_ _that_?"

The anger drops off as something inside you releases. "Because it's happened before."

"You lost me before?"

You can feel the tears starting. _Damn it. No. No crying. Crying is cheating._ "Look, sometimes that happens. Remember what you were saying about the case? Well it's true. _Sometimes_ people, good people, they do things because they care about you, and they want to protect you. They think that's what they're doing; they think they're giving you what you want and need, but they're _not_. They think they're doing the right thing, but it's cruel. And then they realize it, and they leave. They say they'll 'always be there if you need them' that you'll 'always be friends' but they leave. You're not the first person to tell me 'I wouldn't lose you.'"

"Is _all_ _this_ because of _some guy_ from your past?" Sam's still flabbergasted, but the rest of his irritation is fading fast as he sees you _finally_ breaking down and start explaining yourself.

"No, not _some guy_ , lots of them. One guy is life, two is coincidence, but three or more is a pattern, just like serial killers, though in this case, it's a pattern of serial leaving. I've heard that story -'I won't lose you'- a dozen times before, and I _did_. I lost them, _all of them,_ in different horrible non-death ways. They were _all_ friends, they _all_ became more, and they _all_ eventually gave some version of the 'just friends' or 'it's not you it's me' speech. _I have heard them **all**._ You know what? It doesn't matter if they were telling the truth then, because they all still lied: they all still _left_ _me_!"

"So what does that have to do with _me_? _I_ don't want to go anywhere! But I can't keep going back and forth like this anymore. If you're not ready to tell me everything yet that's fine, but can't we _at least_ get back to being friends?"

"That's what I'm trying to do!"

"Then you can't disappear again. You promise _me_. Friends don't do that. Friends are _there_ for each other no matter what. So even if it's just watching movies or working cases and that's _all_ you're ready to talk about right now, then you promise _you're gonna be there for that_." Sam sees you nod, but plows ahead. "Because not talking to you, not being able to have so much as a _real conversation_ for the last six months has been torture for me too."

Your voice is broken by now shifting from harsh whisper to a hysterical plea. "Fine. I promise. I just . . . don't you _get it,_ Sam? I can't lose _you_ like that too! I just can't. I can't-"

The last of Sam's anger just drains away as he watches you melt down and closes the distance in about two steps. "Hey, _hey_. You're _not gonna lose **me**_. Come here. It's ok." Sam just holds you . . . as close as he can." I'm not going anywhere. Winchesters never stay gone. I'm _right here_."

You hold Sam back and all of a sudden you can breathe easier than you have in months. The tears that at first seemed like they’d drown you stopped fairly quickly, considering. You still don’t like when people see you cry. There's a lot unsaid, but it's not all trapped inside your chest anymore and for the moment, Sam's arms seem to be helping you hold what's left together. “I _want_ to believe you, Sam. Maybe that’s what Crowley meant.” You felt Sam tense against you. “Just listen: I _trust you_ . . . in so many ways . . . but I can’t seem to trust you not to disappear.” You pull away just enough to look up at him. “But I _really want_ to.”

“I guess I’ll just have to stick around then.”

By that point, you’ve calmed down enough to start to wonder why you haven’t heard applause from Dean yet. “Are Dean and Cas still here?”

“I think they left a while ago.” _Around the time I accused you of having feelings for Dean._

“Good.”

You start to feel a gentle nudging at your stomach like Sam’s trying to tickle you, but it’s confusing because his hands are on your back. Around the time your brain starts to work it out, Sam abruptly pulls away and leads you to sit on the bed.

“Sorry; I should be careful not to mess your ribs up. You need some ice?”

“Um, yeah . . . a little ice would be good. You need to ice down anything?” Sam gives you a look that is equal parts sheepish and mortified, and you suddenly put his strange behavior together. _Oh . . . OH. Sam’s got a boner . . . Poor Sam. Don’t think about it and for the love of coffee, don’t stare. He can’t help it. It’s just the friction from hugging._  “You know . . . from the fight?”

You both start laughing to break the tension and Sam gets an ice pack from the mini fridge.

“We only seem to have one ice pack, but I can go see if this place has an ice machine.”

You don’t want Sam to go anywhere right now. “I think we’ll manage. How about I text Dean to bring us food and then we can put on a movie and take turns with the ice pack.” You know you’re not entirely talking about the ice pack, and Sam seems to get that too.

He just smiles handing you the ice pack and remote control. Then Sam comes to sit on the bed beside you. “Sounds perfect; you want me to check your sleeping bag for spiders?"

You smile back. “Yeah, I’ll check the shower for clowns in a little bit.”

 _♪Lovers Or Liars_ by LaurenAquilina _♪_

 _♪_ _Trying to put my finger on this feeling; Can't remember what we came here for; Everything we try to say has hidden meaning; When you're the kind of tired that sleep can't cure; Time moves slow, waiting for this to evolve; When hearts have nothing to hold, they let go; So what the hell are we waiting for? Are we lovers or liars? Are we burning up to keep this fire alive? God loves a trier, but there's nothing left to try lying to ourselves, lying to each other, hiding from the truth, lying under covers. Are we lovers or liars?_ _♪_

_♪_ _Holding onto reasons I should keep you when all the things you loved are now my flaws. We took apart our hands while we were sleeping, but will our dreaming be our downfall? Are we lovers or liars? Are we burning up to keep this fire alive? God loves a trier, but there's nothing left to try lying to ourselves, lying to each other, hiding from the truth, lying under covers. Are we lovers or liars?_ _♪_

_♪_ _Should we lose everything we've got, Or settle for something that we're not? And all will be forgiven if we go back._ _Can we go back? Are we lovers or liars? Are we burning up to keep this fire alive? God loves a trier, but there's nothing left to try lying to ourselves, lying to each other, hiding from the truth, lying under covers. Are we lovers or liars? ♪_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. So who thinks Sam and reader deserve some massive snuggles and fluff after the last few chapters? I do! I do!!!! Snuggles are coming!
> 
> For anyone who would like to be entertained by conversations between me and my muses: http://ladyataralasse.tumblr.com/ tag fanmail or S&B until I come up with something better.


	17. Irish Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following was written primarily over several months while under the influence of PMS and cramps. Some of it sounds crazy because I took the time to make it as authentic as possible. I hope it doesn't get too crazy.
> 
> For those of you enjoying the geek references so far, this one is going to have some more new ones. :)

♪ _Give up the Ghost_ (feat. Johnny McDaid) from Fortuna ♪

♪ _Come here it’s all worth the fight when it’s you dear. We’re hitting our heads on the wall here, we don’t have to hold on so tightly. Slow down we’re losing the meaning of words now; quiet the noise cause we made a mountain of minuscule things. Can we just give up the ghost; remember what we love the most; untangle our hands unravel ourselves and let go can we just give up the ghost._ _♪_

_♪Hold on, cause what’s said is said and what’s done’s done; Oblivious clocks on the walls run, cause time doesn’t owe us a thing; we are the sum of our parts and we’ve both seen the palms of our hands where the lines meet. It’s fortune that favors the brave ones. Can we just give up the ghost; remember what we love the most; untangle our hands unravel ourselves and let go; can we just give up the ghost. All that we know, all that we are, all that we were, all that we have been. ♪_

When Dean comes back to the motel room, you and Sam are asleep: him under the covers, you in your sleeping bag while the end of another episode of _STAR WARS: The Clone Wars_ plays. While Dean's disappointed for the most part that he didn't interrupt anything -and you and Sam are _clearly_ still clothed- Sam is also _clearly_ spooning you. _They both look more peaceful than I've seen them in months. Yeah, we can leave after a good night's sleep. Cas can keep Kevin out of trouble for the night at the bunker._

The next morning, you and Sam wake up and find Dean had picked up breakfast. "Rise and Shine campers, 'Dr. Java and Mr. Hi There' of Forester's Coffee made good on his promise. He gave us free breakfast _and_ lunch as his way of saying: I'm sorry I assaulted you when my soul was running on empty."

You nod and take the coffee from Dean sipping carefully, letting the caffeine transform you back into a human.

Fifteen minutes later you respond to Dean's explanation of the abundance of food. "Good. I see you got more pie. What about me and Sam?"

"Ah, he sent you more cupcakes and some chocolate croissants, half a dozen wraps, some fruit, and the coffee. Also, I asked that punk for that 'double barrel' coffee you got us the last two days, and you know what he said?"

 _Shit. Busted._ You slide on your most innocent expression. "Coming right up?"

"No." Dean growls. "He said that he had _no idea_ what I was talking about. You've been ordering me 'quad shot americanos,' whatever the fuck that means." Sam opens his mouth to explain what they were, but Dean silences him with a wave of his hand. "I don't wanna know. They're good anyway, sneaky princess."

"Yeah, yeah, be careful Dean; you're gonna come off all respectable pretty soon."

"Yeah, yeah, Ms. _Calrissian_." Dean chuckles. "When you two are done eating, let's load up. Cas checked on Kevin last night, and then did some follow up on the case. He'll fill us in on the road."

You groan. "Really? I just want to sleep some more. My ribs are still kinda sore."

Sam yawns in his best lion impression. "I wouldn't mind a few more hours either. I feel like I haven't slept in months."

Dean rolls his eyes. _That's because you haven't._ How about we load up, I'll drive us to that pizza place in Chicago. You two can make notes in backseat while Cas fills me in on what he found."

You and Sam look at each other, shrug, and then nod at Dean. Sam answers for both of you. "If by make notes, you mean half listen and definitely fall asleep, I think we're game."

"Well said, Master Winchester."

Sam grins at you. "Thank you, my padawan."

Dean makes a show of grimacing. "Are you two back on that kick again?"

Neither you nor Sam answer, but you share a smile and finish your breakfast while Dean just shakes his head.

After breakfast, you all bundle into the Impala. Castiel isn't there yet so Sam sits up front, but by the time you get to the first gas station, you are already digging out your sleeping bag. The temperature dropped the night before, and the Impala can't quite keep up with warming the backseat even by day anymore. Castiel meets you at the first Gas 'n Sip you stop at outside Chicago, and Sam surprises you by letting Castiel sit up front and climbing into the backseat.

The pizza at Bucktown's My Pie was incredible. So much so that after putting a couple pies into the trunk to take back to the bunker for later, you start falling into a food coma in the backseat.

You hand Castiel a digital recorder. "Hey Cas, can you just talk into this? I'll write it down later." You turn it on for him and start to hunker down into your sleeping bag. “Ugh, there is no good position with sore ribs.”

Sam starts to lean against his door, his legs bumping into you. After a few minutes of Sam apologizing and you telling him it was fine, he has an idea. “I’m not sure there’s a good sitting position for long legs either, but I’ve got an idea. How about I lay across the seat, facing the front, and you lay in front of me with your back on the seat, facing the roof, to keep your ribs more stable? Then we can both stretch out a little.”

“Sure.” You start to reposition yourself, and Sam helps guide you while Dean heads down the highway. “Just hope Dean doesn't stop suddenly. I'll be on the floor."

Sam wraps his left arm around your waist, anchoring you against him, his right arm cushioning his head. "I've got you."

You start to relax, closing your eyes. It’s too intense to look at your primary view: Sam’s face only inches away. "You comfortable, Sam?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Thanks, Sam." Yawn. "You're the best."

Sam chuckles and snuggles into the seat back, holding you in place as carefully as he can.

* * *

When the Impala pulls into the bunker, Dean unloads the car, while Cas and Kevin warm up the pizza. Sam makes sure you’re settled in a comfy leather chair in the library before he goes to help Dean. You all gather in the library to eat and catch up. Dean pops _Lethal Weapon_ into his laptop, and Kevin hooks it up to a small projector so you can all watch. You and Sam sit closely to make preliminary notes on the case file.

When the second _Lethal Weapon_ goes in, Sam has you sit on a stool in front of him for a little bit, so he can massage your neck and shoulders. He work on your ribs a little too. While a part of your brain was excited by the feeling of Sam easing the tension out of your muscles, you are still too bone-weary from a release of months of tension to give it more than a passing thought. Sam finishes working on your back and starts lightly rubbing your back. When you slump back against him, snoring lightly, Sam carries you to bed. He gets your shoes off and tucks you under the covers, before closing the door and leaving you to sleep.

♪ _Layla_ by Eric Clapton♪

_♪ What'll you do when you get lonely and nobody's waiting by your side? You've been running and hiding much too long. You know it's just your foolish pride. Layla, you've got me on my knees. Layla, I'm begging, darling please. Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind. ♪_

_♪ I tried to give you consolation when your old man had let you down. Like a fool, I fell in love with you, turned my whole world upside down. Layla, you've got me on my knees. Layla, I'm begging, darling please. Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind. ♪_

_♪ Let's make the best of the situation before I finally go insane. Please don't say we'll never find a way and tell me all my love's in vain. Layla, you've got me on my knees. Layla, I'm begging, darling please. Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind. ♪_

* * *

A couple days later, Sam and Dean are in the kitchen. Dean is finishing off the last of the pie Tom sent home with you, while Sam tries to focus on reading the paper. Dean warms one of the slices in the oven until it starts to get gooey and the scent of pumpkin pecan starts to waft into the room. After he slides it onto a plate, Dean pulls a can of whipped cream out of the refrigerator. The sound of Dean shaking the can catches Sam's attention, and when Dean sprays a fist-sized dollop on his pie, Sam's mind starts to wander back. He remembers driving home from the bar with you. The way you couldn't stop finding ways to tease him into a frenzy . . . your foot on his leg, the way you nuzzled your face into his side . . .

 

 

 

 

> _You chuckled and nuzzled your face against his side, while you nosed Sam's shirt up to deliver open-mouthed kisses to his side and stomach. You were in the process of deciding between going after a nipple or the button on his jeans next when Sam stopped the car abruptly, cradling your head with his hand so you didn't hit it against the steering wheel._
> 
> _You took advantage of the stopped car and swiftly moved your mouth up to give his right nipple a long, swirling lick before you smiled up at him like a cat that's eating the fish after you told him to leave the canary alone. "Look Sam, no hands."_
> 
> _Sam banged his head lightly on the steering wheel, whining your name. "I can't help but feel that you are cheating."_
> 
> _"There's just no pleasing you Sam . . . I'm following your requests."_
> 
> _"Oh, you're being very pleasing. That's the problem. You're finding loopholes."_
> 
> _"For a pre-law student, you sure left a lot of them. At this point, they're really more belt loop holes, and I'm just undoing them one by one until I've got your pants down around your ankles."_
> 
> _Sam groaned again. "What's it going to take for you to stop distracting me, so we can get back to the bunker on one piece? Another future favor?"_
> 
> _"How much further?"_
> 
> _"Five minutes."_
> 
> _You narrowed your eyes discerningly. "I want whipped cream."_
> 
> _"Is that all?"_
> 
> _"The real stuff, to be served on your neck and the V line of your hips."_
> 
> _Sam looked a little stunned for a minute like you just shorted out his brain before he managed to reply, "Deal."_

Sam's eyes are staring holes through Dean's pie at this point.

Dean's voice breaks Sam out of his reverie. "Get your own pie."

"I don't want **_your pie_**."

"Coulda fooled me. What the hell are you thinking about anyway?"

"The alphabet."

Sam's mind fast-forwards to later that night. He remembers spanking your ass all the way to the kitchen . . . You grabbing the can of whipped cream and stuffing it into his pants . . . He remembers your "sobriety test" . . .

 

 

> _You looked around for the can of whipped cream, and noticed, gratefully, that it was still in his pants and took the opportunity to crawl up the bed and pull it slowly out, while you tried not to lose focus from staring at his bare chest._
> 
> _Sam grinned. "See something you like?"_
> 
> _"Abso-fucking-lutely." You used the whipped cream to draw a small 'A' on Sam's right peck, starting at his nipple. Sam groaned as you slowly licked it up, swirling your tongue over his hard, tan nub. "A," you say aloud before you started drawing a 'B' over his other peck. Sam was a mess by **that** point, making breathy moans and squirming. You sat back and enjoyed your handiwork. "Sam are you going to be able to sit still while I finish my sobriety test, or do you need me to tie you to the bed?"_
> 
> _Sam's eyes went nearly black with want. "Another time. I think I can manage through the next 24 letters."_

"Do I even want to know?"

Sam smirks into his coffee, the image of you licking at his bare chest fresh in his mind. "Maybe, but I'm not going to tell you." Sam thinks over the last few days with you. Things are better between the two of you, a lot better since the hunt. He's still not entirely sure where things stand, but Sam at least knows he matters to you on some level and that helps. Still, Sam can't help but think back to the drunk, cocky versions of the two of you that couldn't stop flirting, to the sober, awkward versions of yourselves that can't seem to stop talking like porn stars, to everything in between. Something still doesn't quite add up, even knowing a little more about your history, your fears. At the very least, Sam wonders if things with him brought up all those issues, if you're going to want to try to cross lines with him ever again, or if you'd rather just find someone else that doesn't bring up bad memories. _Not that I even know for sure whether she still thinks of me like that or if she wants more than whipped cream and nudity with me._

* * *

  


Meanwhile, you and Charlie are catching up over the phone.

"Hey Char, how are things going at New York Comicon?"

"Pretty good all in all. I mean it's a lot more manageable than San Diego, I'm getting lots of great loot and meeting some fun people. So . . . how are things at the bunker? Kevin said you went on a hunt with the boys. Did that go well?"

You can't help but smile at the hopeful tone in her voice. "Things are going better, a lot better. The hunt went really well. At first it was normal, but not. Then things got pretty tense there for awhile, but Sam and I eventually got to have a real conversation. I didn't tell him everything yet. I'm not ready yet. But we're at least mending our friendship, and I guess we'll see about the rest."

"How was it being around Sam after all that time? Did you two still share a bed? Was it weird? It seems like it would be weird."

"It was a little, but honestly, more than weird, it was just hard being around him and just trying to work on our friendship. I'm not really sure how I made it. Every time I was around him . . . the way he smells, the cut of his suit, the sound of his voice, the neck massage he gave me . . ."

"Neck massage . . . score."

"Yeah, well it was _just_ my neck. Ugh,  . . . I stayed away in part to get a handle on my hormones around him . . . I mean before I could hardly think well enough to get the right words out . . . all I wanted to do was get him naked again and that one idea blocked out all the things at risk that really matter . . . "

"So for you, Sam is the catalyst for a porno version of _Inception_?"

"Pretty much . . . for awhile anyway. It's like he's a drug. I thought if I just got him out of my system, I could start over, but the second I was in the Impala, the second I caught the barest whiff of him, it was all I could focus on . . . so _that_ part of my plan was sort of a failure. Even after barely seeing Sam for months, just being around him made my mind slide right back into gutter mode. Between that and all the other things freaking me out, made talking to Sam _at all_ hard to navigate."

"I'll bet. So now what?"

"Time apart at least helped me figure out a few things. For a start, clearly Sam and I can't go back to the way things were. I can't get him out of my system. And I also don't want to ever go that long without really talking to Sam again."

"So where does that leave you?" Charlie's afraid to ask. She's afraid you're planning to run.

"Well, if I can't get him out of my system, I'll just have to build my tolerance back up again and decide what to do next. No matter what, I decide, I have promises to keep to Sam."

" _Sounds promising_."

"Hilarious."

"I know. So what did you promise him?"

"I promised Sam I wasn't going to run. I promised him that I would eventually tell him everything."

"Did you tell him how miserable you've been avoiding him?"

"Actually, I did. I told him I missed his friendship and that I didn't want to go through that ever again."

"Yeesh."

"What?"

"Well that's sort of a double-edged sword. He could take that as you want to be his friend again, and you're not going to run, but he could also take that as you also won't do anything to jeopardize that friendship, which may or may not include trying something romantic with him."

"True."

"So I guess you're not going to tell me which way you’re leaning either?"

"Yup."

"Is that because you haven't decided or you think my poker face needs work?"

"Yes."

"Glad we cleared that up. If Sam decides to chain you up in the dungeon to interrogate you at some point, I'm going to assume you had it coming."

"Duly noted. So . . . tell me about the Comicon panels."

* * *

The next couple days are pretty quiet. You and Sam work to get all the case notes wrapped up, and you spend some time catching Kevin up on the hunt and hearing about how things with Talia are going. You take it easy throughout, resting your ribs. Castiel offers to speed the healing process along, but you refuse, “Cas, it’s not life-threatening. I’ll manage. Save it for when I’m bleeding out or something.”

You completely miss Sam’s horrified expression at even the suggestion, but Castiel accepts your argument.

All the while, Dean's been sitting back, observing, crossing fingers -in his head at least- trying to just give you both a few days to sort things out on your own now that you’re finally having real conversations again, but by the third day, Dean is _done with this shit_. He is completely and utterly _done_ watching his brother and his pseudo sister dancing around their feelings. He has to get away from them and figure out how to make them sort things out. To do that he needs help; he needs her only other confidant that he might be able to convince to help him: Kevin. Charlie might cave too, but Kevin's already in arm’s reach.

He finds Kevin researching away in the library. “Kevin, close that book; we’re heading out for supplies.”

Kevin looks up at Dean with a confused expression until he sees you and Sam coming back into the library from the stacks. He's noticed that you and Sam have been better, but still clearly dealing with unresolved nonsense. “Yup, I think I need some stuff.”

Dean nods. “Then let’s go, Short-round. You’re the keeper of the lists.”

Kevin grabs the steno-pad he uses to keep track of supplies in the bunker as part of his contribution and follows Dean to the car.

Dean waits until they've left to launch into his rant. "Those two are enough to make a _teenage girl_ tap out on the drama!"

"I know!" Kevin groans.

“Do they realize that _none_ of what they’re saying makes _any_ sense based on what _actually happened_?”

“Evidently not.”

"When they had it out on the hunt two nights in a row . . . I was sure they'd be past this by now . . . "

"They at least seem to be headed in the right direction, but they are moving at glacial speed. If they don't pick up the pace soon, something else is going to get in the way again or they'll get in their own way."

"We can’t let this go on forever. This is insane.”

“Agreed.”

“OK, then you and I need to put our heads together and find a way to get those two to face what’s _really_ going on.”

Kevin is back in the library researching again when he finally has a solid idea about how to get you and Sam to sort things out and goes to find Dean, who is teaching Cas how to clean a shotgun. Resisting the many, _many_ penis metaphors that watching Cas oil Dean’s shotgun barrel brings to mind, Kevin explains his idea to force you and Sam to work things through.

"Dean, I checked my calendar, and I have an idea.”

“What?”

“The British are coming."

"Dude, _what_?"

“She's about to begin menstruating." Castiel translates.

Dean looks back at Kevin, his confusion shifting to disgust. “Dude, you track that?”

Kevin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I have to; I take care of her then, and she takes care of me when I’m working on the tablet. I don’t let them overlap.”

“Fair enough, but how does that help us?”

“You take me to visit my mom for a week. Her birthday is coming up anyway. I was going to send a card, but I can surprise her with a visit. Maybe you and Cas can catch a salt and burn nearby. That way, Sam and ___ are stuck together in a situation where they have to spend a lot of time alone together. He’ll have to take care of her for days.”

Dean chews the inside of his mouth. “This could work.”

“And it will give us a full week without listening to those two or having to suffer through their emotional dissonance in the bunker so we can think clearly enough to come up with a better plan.”

Dean stands up and ruffles Kevin’s hair. “Sounds like a solid plan, Short-round. Let’s get packed up, and you sell the plan to Sam. Do we tell her?”

Kevin’s face looks momentarily terrified. “Hell no.”

* * *

It came over you slowly the next day, this feeling of pervasive misery, like dementors are loose in the bunker, draining your happiness. You need comfort food stat. Then you can crawl back under your covers and watch comfort TV until you feel better.

Foraging in the kitchen, turns up the ingredients for chocolate crackle cookies, but by the time you finish melting the chocolate and mixing the batter, making it into cookies seems like way too much time and effort.

Dean wanders into the kitchen, sensing baking afoot."Hey, smells like chocolate crackle cookies."

His voice is so gratingly cheerful, it's hard not to glare. "Yup."

Dean thinks he sees something jealously predatory in your eyes for a moment, like a tiger guarding its kill, but he ignores it. "You gonna baked those first?"

"No."

"You're gonna eat it _all_ out of the bowl like that?"

"Maybe. Why, you saying I shouldn't?"

"Yeah."

"Because I'm fat or something?"

Dean senses danger and starts trying to back pedal. "No! No, of course not! Because you're gonna make yourself sick eating that much raw cookie dough."

"So what? You think you're smarter than me?"

"What? No. You're plenty smart. I just..."

"I'll eat whatever the hell I want, Dean." You poke Dean in the chest with your scraper. "I don't need your fucking permission."

 _Kevin's calendar is right on the money. Good luck, brother._ Dean holds his hands up in surrender. "Look, ____ . . . I didn't mean..."

"Whatever."

Putting the bowl under one arm and grabbing the scraper, you head back to your room, bumping into Sam on the way.

“Hey _____, you wanna marathon some _Star Wars_?”

“Not today, Sam.”

“What are you eating?”

“Why is everyone suddenly so hung up on my food choices?"

"What?"

"Just leave me alone!”

You storm off to your room, slamming the door behind you.

Kevin walks up to Sam while he stands there, dumbfounded. "Shake it off, man. That wasn't you."

Sam runs his hands through his hair, trying to figure out what just happened and as none of that exchange makes any sense to him, he starts to wonder what it is _about him_ that set you off. "Sure felt like me. Just when I thought we were making progress."

"Naw, that's how shark week starts."

"Shark week?"

"Yeah. Shark week ... It airs once a month ... Come on man, you've had at least a couple girlfriends, right?"

Understanding dawns in Sam's eyes. " _Oh_. Should I go after her?"

Kevin shakes his head vehemently. "Do you see _me_ going after her?"

"No."

"Trust me, Sam. Leave her be. She'll be less like Smaug soon enough."

Sam notices for the first time that Kevin has a duffle bag packed and slung over one shoulder. "You heading out?"

"Yeah, Dean's taking me to my mom's."

" _Now_? Don't you normally take care of her when she's like this? I thought that was your deal."

"Yeah, I know, but my mom's birthday is coming up. It can't be helped. It's just bad timing."

Sam nods, understanding, wondering what it would be like to try to rush home for his mom's birthday.

"I was actually looking for you. I haven't told ____ that I'm going yet and seeing the state she's in . . . I think I'm gonna text her from the road."

Sam nods again, smiling a little. "I can see why."

"Yeah. Look, I hate to ask this, but can you take care of her while I'm gone? Once the worst of the anger passes, she's going to be in a world of hurt, and she's not real mobile when it's a bad one."

"Um, sure, I guess. Is _she_ gonna be ok with that?"

"Probably not at first, but she'll come around. It's not like she hates you or anything."

"Jeez, thanks a lot. Don't oversell it."

"Come on Sam, she can't help it. She's basically possessed by all the evil hormones in her blood for the next few days."

Sam snorts. Now _that_ is something he can relate to. "I suppose I do dimly recall having a couple girlfriends go through that. I can't say they were delightful that time of the month either. What do I have to do?"

Kevin grins. "I'll make you a list, and you can text me whenever you need to."

"Fine. But you owe me."

"Deal. It'll be fine, Sam. Mostly, you need to make sure she has enough to eat and drink . . . and keep the happy DVDs playing . . . oh, and make sure she stays warm."

Sam laughs. "I feel like you're asking me to take care of a difficult pet."

Kevin grins in a way that makes Sam's smile fade. "I find it works best to imagine she's Smaug, and I need to keep her happy so she doesn't burn down Laketown, but maybe you'd prefer thinking of her as She-Hulk. Either way, you won't like her if she's angry."

"Fair enough. I'll figure it out. When are you leaving?"

"Soon. Dean's just printing some more intel on a salt and burn near my mom's. Cas will be with him." Kevin gives Sam a parting pat on the shoulder before heading off. "May the Force be with you."

Sam forces himself to laugh off Kevin's slightly forebodingwords and goes back to what he'd been trying to do before: getting a bite to eat.

* * *

In the Impala after leaving the bunker, Dean is letting Castiel enjoy a rare opportunity to ride shotgun while Kevin relaxes in the backseat. “How'd it go when you convinced loverboy to stay behind?”

Kevin grins. “Perfectly. You know at one point I practically referred to her as his girlfriend and not only did Sam go along with it, he practically parroted it back to me later in the conversation."

“What?”

“I told Sam that he should be able to handle this since he’s had a couple girlfriends and he agreed that he’s had a few and he could handle this. Like I said, he practically included her to the list. The plan _will work, Dean_. “

Dean shakes his head. “Not to burst your bubble, Short-round, but don’t underestimate those two and their mountain range of issues. We still need to come up with an adaptable follow up plan.”

* * *

A few hours later, Sam made up a tray with soup, grilled cheese, and some tea and left it by your door. He knocks and then heads back down the hall before you see him. When you get the tray, you figured it was Kevin, until you see a note in Sam's handwriting: _Hope you're feeling better_ . _Maybe we can try the movie marathon tomorrow._

Sam's note makes you feel simultaneously better and worse. Why did PMS have to turn you into such a raging bitch?! And to _Sam_ of all people...You glance down the hallway looking for him. You think about looking for him, telling him you want to marathon _Star Wars_ after all, but you feel another crying jag coming on so you take the tray into your room and close the door. You re-read the note, tracing his handwriting with your finger before tucking it safely into a book beside your bed.

* * *

You get up the next morning feeling like weepy, self-pitying roadkill. You text Kevin, but he doesn't respond after about half an hour. _Well that's weird. I could have sworn Kevin was here last night when I went to sleep. It's not like him not to respond. Maybe he's asleep or maybe his phone's off. Maybe he got a late night booty call from Talia. Lucky little bastard. Oh well, one of us should be getting laid._ You roll over and curl into a ball, groaning. Even that small movement makes you feel worse. You feel too terrible to sleep, so you lay there trying to reach Kevin, but after another hour, you decide to venture out to look for him. You tug on a bathrobe and lurch out into the hallway. The cramps haven't really even started yet, but every movement is exhausting. Several long steps later, you can tell Kevin isn't in his room either. You groan and lean against the wall with one hand, clutching your abdomen with the other, which is already feeling nauseated and slowly make your way down to the library. You just want to live under a blanket for awhile, so when you come out into the library reluctantly scavenging for food and Kevin, you're hoping this will be a quick venture. You're hoping Dean and Sam aren't around. One person is sitting in the library, but it definitely isn't Kevin.

_It's Sam. **Double Balls.** This is why I never come out of my hallway this time of the month. **Never**. Kevin takes care of me. He makes sure the boys never see me at my worst, especially Sam . . . **Balls.** Maybe I can sneak back to my room before Sam sees me, and I say something terrible. I can just text Sam that I have stomach flu or something and ask him to bring me food and find out where Kevin is . . . but first I just need to sneak back out of the library._

Sam's head comes up while you're trying to make a clean escape. "Hey, how you feeling?"

Your eye twitches and there is so much self-control contained in that small tic, you aren’t sure you could express it if you wanted to. **_What kind of stupid question is that?_** _No, I need to contain this hot roiling mess of emotions churning inside me . . . But seriously, 'how do I feel?' I **feel** like I just crawled out of my hole to announce six more weeks of winter . . . I can't possibly **look** much better . . . No, this is **Sam**. I **like Sam**. Just keep things brief and get back to your room before you say something horrible. He has **no idea** that the mere act of standing is exhausting and the mental challenge of talking is too much for your depleting blood supply, which is planning to leave with my uterus as soon as possible . . . Ugh, I can practically feel them packing their bags and stirring up the villagers._

"Where's Kevin?" You know there's a growl to your voice, but it can’t be helped.

Sam looks a little taken aback, but recovers quickly. "Um, he's not here."

Your face drops into a scowl. _The fuck do you mean he’s not here?!_ "When will he be back?"

"In a few days I think; maybe a week. Dean took him out to see his mom. Cas is with them just in case they run into trouble. I told them I'd stay home and finish the write up on that case we just finished. I figured you wouldn't mind."

"Balls! You've gotta be fucking kidding me! Of all the lousy timing and terrible ideas . . ."

"Hey, hey, easy. Calm down."

" _You_ calm down!" You snap your mouth shut before you let out the rest of your first immediate response: _It's not like your body has your testicles in a slowly-tightening death grip that has only just begun to torture you._ A few more furiously muttered words escape: "Son of a Bitch! How could Kevin do this to me . . ."

"Do _what_ to you? Leave you with _me_?" Sam looks at you, the hurt obvious in his eyes. He heard what Kevin said, but you’ve _never_ acted like this towards him. Even when you were upset or cagey or defensive on the hunt . . . you were never _mean_. "Is it really that ‘terrible’ to be stuck here with me? Really?! Is _that_ where we're at again?"

You feel impossibly worse and slump forward. You're about to whine. You know it, but you don't have the energy you need to talk _without screaming_ _and_ whining right now. Whining without screaming seems marginally better. "Saa-aaammmm. Come ooooo-nnnnn. That's _not_ it. You kno-ow that's _not_ it."

"Do I? Do I know that's not it? I mean you promised you weren’t going to disappear again, but now here we are: you need help, I’m the _only one_ around, and you’d still rather be anywhere else than near me again."

"I am _not_ disappearing. I'm trying to protect our friendship. I don't need a guilt trip too; I already I feel like shit. All I want to do right now is curl up in my room for the next week . . . _I_ _need_ _Kevin_."

"Of course you do." Sam mutters, frustrated.

You take an enormous breath trying to calm yourself. You can see where Sam's mind is going, and _that_ has to stop. "Sam, I need to you to listen: This is the _worst possible time_ for us to have a conversation about your importance to me. Can you take me to Charlie? She can take care of me for couple days. Just drop me off there, and she can deal with me."

"Charlie? I thought you don't want to leave your room for the next week? Now, you have to get _out_ of the bunker? You're not making any sense."

"Charlie's a girl; you're not. She gets this. You don't have to deal with this."

"You're making too big a deal out of this." Sam saw something come into your eyes and had a sudden image of Steven Colbert when he interviewed Smaug and couldn’t stop mispronouncing his name . . .

You feel something snap. You know that later there will be regret, but right now, the village _has to go_ . . .

" _Of course I am_! Haven't you been listening?! You really want to know how I’m feeling, Sam? You _really_ want to know? Well, here it is . . .I’m feeling like a needy, toxic, insecure, self-conscious, raging _bitch_ full of crippling self-loathing and low self-esteem -a state of mind that is _so_ dissonant from the person I like to think that I am that _not_ _only_ do I _barely_ recognize my own thought processes, but I don’t want to know or be in the company of myself right now- but I’m trapped in my own fucking skin. If Crowley were here right now and I wasn’t tattooed, I’d rent out my meatsuit for the next week! My head is such a swirl of toxic nonsense; I don’t even want to talk about it. I’m embarrassed by my own contemplations. I’m pretty sure _demons_ have nicer thoughts. I want to ignore myself or distract myself until these feelings go away because if I have to listen to _one more second_ of myself, I’m going start considering options for a temporary coma or going on a vampire murder spree using myself as bait! And that’s just how I feel _emotionally_. As for the rest of me: I feel awful and crappy and when the cramps get really bad, I will not be able to do more then get myself to the bathroom. There's just lots of crying and being crazy! Sam, you and Dean are _not_ supposed to see me when I'm being crazy. In fact, I have a whole long list of rules about how women should not let men see them when they're being crazy. When we know we're being crazy, we should call other women who understand the crazy, so guys don't see us being crazy. I don't want you to see me being the helpless, crazy female! But it’s WAY too late for that now." You finally pause to take a breath. "There you have it, Sam. Now you _know_. Happy?"

Sam shakes himself hard, so he can jump in to try and reason with you. "OK, first, no, I'm not happy, but I don’t think you’re crazy either. I think you’re . . . just . . . not yourself. Second, Kevin's not a woman and neither am I-"

"Yeah, I was drunk Sam, not in a sensory deprivation chamber. I could have been blind, and I'd know you're a guy by now." _I've had your cock in my mouth for pete's sake . . ._

Sam tries not to smirk at the cleverly-veiled compliment. “So there’s no reason I can’t be there for you just as well as Kevin can.”

"I know Kevin's not a woman, but I don't see him as being a guy either. I mean I don't see him as a brother exactly, but he's family like Castiel and Dean. You . . .  you're."

"What? . . . _What am I_? Why can't you just let me take care of you?"

"You're . . . _complicated_ , ok?!" You burst into tears. "See?! I can't do this! I can't. _This_ is exactly what I was talking about. I can't have these conversations right now. I told you that, and you didn't listen and now look! See: crazy girl crying! I've been trying for how many months to avoid this, but you couldn't just let it go and _listen_! I'm just not okay, and I wish were okay. I wish I knew what to do to make us okay, but I don't. But I _am_ certain a week full of screaming or crying won't help. There's some things I just . . . I can't deal with. I just want Kevin to be here, so I can sit in my room and eat chocolate and watch movies and cry about how you and I are not okay, and it's all because I'm such a fucked up person, who always ruins everything!"

Sam just sits there, too stunned to say anything while you shuffle down the hall, ugly crying back to you room.

 _Oh shit; I poked the dragon._ Sam heads to his room -for privacy- and makes a call. "Hey Kevin."

"Hey, Sam. How are things?"

"All right . . . Hey, just in case it comes up . . . What would you suggest if I _do_ happen to 'upset the dragon'?"

"What happened?"

* * *

Needing some fresh air after his conversation with Kevin, Sam heads outside the bunker with a mug of coffee to ponder some of Kevin's suggestions. As he takes a seat on the hill, he finds Castiel there as well.

“Hey Cas. What are you doing out here?”

“Just pondering things. You?”

“The same, I guess.”

"Kevin said you had a rough morning on dragon watch."

Sam chuckles. "You could say that."

They sit quietly for a few minutes before Sam breaks the silence again. “Cas, how do you tolerate Dean’s shit?”

“How do _you_?”

“He’s my brother. On some level that’s your obligation to family: to put up with their shit.”

“From what I’ve observed, people choose to be obligated or not to their families. I _choose_ to obligate myself to Dean, just as you do.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.”

“But this is not about Dean.”

“No. It’s not. Just reflecting on how exhausting it is to have two people in my life that don’t deal with their problems by talking about them, they just sort of fold in on themselves like origami, trying to hide their emotions with elaborate folding.”

“She isn’t trying to hurt you Sam. This is not your fault. She has scars, like you and Dean, and she is trying to deal with them in a way that does not hurt you. She is clearly failing, but she doesn’t know how to do this better.”

“So _I_ didn’t mess this up?”

“No. _Others_ messed her up. She’s just trying to not let her issues hurt anyone else. She’s trying to stop the cycle by taking herself out, even though doing so is no easier on her than on you.”

“What can I do?”

“Be patient with her. She needs time.”

“Yeah, and space. I got that speech.”

“This is not about you, Sam. This is _not_ your fault. She just needs to find her way. If she didn’t care about you, I assure you she would be handling things very differently.”

“How so?”

“Well for one thing, you notice she has not been . . . socializing outside the bunker - _at all_ \- except Kevin and Charlie. She’s cut herself off from everyone. She's even been staying away from Kevin and Charlie to a certain extent because she doesn’t want them to get exhausted with listening to her talk through her issues.”

“Why?”

“She is afraid of losing _everyone_. The emotions inside her right now feel so big and so overwhelming that she is afraid that if she isn’t careful they will poison and destroy everything that matters to her until she is alone again, the way she was when she started hunting. Fortunately, she found another hunter who felt that way the last time.”

“Well, that sounds _darkly_ familiar.”

“Yes well . . . You two have more than a love of books and _Star Wars_ in common.”

“So you’re saying to just have some faith?”

“Yes.”

Sam heaves a deep sigh. “OK.”

“Just like that?”

“You said it’s not _my_ fault. You said it’s hard for her too, and that it’s not _her_ fault. I trust you, Cas. You don’t really share all the things you must overhear very often . . . So I guess I’ll have to just take it one day at a time.”

“Please do not share with her what I’ve said.”

“I won’t. Thank you for telling me. This explains something.”

“Oh?"

"Well, I mean her behavior’s been pretty extreme -all things being equal- and there’s this look in her eyes that didn’t make sense before.”

“What look is that?”

“Like a cornered animal. She looks wary, Cas, like an alley cat.”

“I’d say that’s fairly accurate.”

“So approach slowly?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“She misses you, Sam. More than anything, she wishes she could just talk to you without worrying that she’ll say the wrong thing and hurt you or push you away.”

Sam gave Cas a look that clearly said: _But she’s hurting me by keeping away._

Cas shoots one right back that echoes Sam's bitchface: “And you and Dean are _so reasonable_ when you’re at odds.”

Sam snorts his coffee. “Fair point.”

Sam and Castiel sit a little while longer before Sam heads off in one of the vintage cars in the garage to get some dragon offerings Kevin suggested on the phone. He didn't want to risk pissing you off by borrowing your car without asking and asking you before he apologized seemed a little dangerous.

* * *

_♪Stealing Cars_ by James Bay♪

 _♪_ _All we need is a spark, a second chance, a lifeline; waiting up in the dark, holding up for a search light. No, I don't know why seasons change or how we fell so far; before our hearts go up in flames, let's go throwing stones and stealing cars. Let the heat of the sun reignite your memory 'cause if we just turn and run, let them fire the gun. No, I don't know why seasons change or how we fell so far. Before our hearts go up in flames, let's go throwing stones and stealing cars. Sirens and smoke remind us, maybe the world won't find us. Fall to the Earth in red light 'til it's gone, gone. No, I don't know why seasons change, or how we get back to the start_ _; before our hearts go up in flames, let's go throwing stones and stealing cars. Let's go throwing stones and stealing cars. Oh tonight these streets are ours to roam. ♪_

Meanwhile, in your room, you're sitting in bed, crying and watching comfort DVDs.

Sam knocks on the door, hearing the sounds of TV laughter on the other side. "Don't get homicidal on me, I come bearing chocolate."

You blow your nose, trying to seem as dignified as possible. "You may proceed."

Sam opens the door slowly and steps over to you, standing beside the bed. His hands are full, one with a disposable drink tray and the other with a bag of what smells like Chinese food. He hands you a milkshake from the drink tray. "I didn't know if you'd want chocolate or coffee, so I got you a mocha shake with whipped cream." He pulls a small plastic container out of his pocket and hands it to you. "I also got toffee topping, but I had them give it to me on the side in case you don't want that."

Sam looks around your room and sees a tray table beside your bed. He clears a couple empty glasses and plates off the surface and puts them in the hall to deal with later. Then he places a bag on the tray and pulls a chair beside your bed. "I'm sorry about earlier. You're right. I shouldn't have pushed it. It was bad timing, and I knew better."

You reach out and take his hand from where it's resting on his knee. "And I'm sorry too about earlier and about yesterday."

Sam squeezes your hand, and smiles. "It's fine. Kevin filled me in. It wasn't fair for me to bring things up right now."

"Maybe, but I was a crazy bitch, and you never deserve that."

"Sometimes, I might."

"But not for no reason. Yesterday in the hallway, there was no call for me to snap at you that way and this morning . . ."

"Look, it's really okay. Yesterday, you mostly were snapping at Dean and Kevin, and maybe I would have deserved it today when I came to your door just now after pressing the issue until you burst into tears."

"Sam . . . I’m not going to snap at you for coming to apologize. I mean, I meant what I said, but I didn't want to say it _that way_ . . . I just feel so . . . I can't believe you saw me insane and then crying like that. It's so mortifying."

"I shouldn’t have said you were making too big a deal out of . . . shark week. That was invalidating and a rookie mistake.”

You narrow your eyes at him, wary. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, and don't feel embarrassed about the crying. If you need to cry, go ahead. I don't scare that easy, okay? This is _me_ we're talking about. I can handle crying, and if you need me to sit there and be there and not talk about things that are complicated, we won't talk about those things, but you and I are still friends and _obviously_ I care about you."

You feel your eyes water and put out your arm to invite him closer. "Get over here and hug me before I cry again." Sam hugs you, and you spill over anyway. "Crap, too late."

"I _really_ don't mind. Kevin told me you were starting shark week before he left and gave me some tips. I am here of my own free will and fully informed."

You look at Sam like he's just told you that he's getting clown sheets. "Wow, sometimes crazy people really do look like everyone else."

He chuckles. "Yes they do. Look, while they're gone, you and I are going to play a game called _What Would Kevin Do_."

You shake your head, smiling. "Well, then come sit with me on the bed. Kevin never sits in the chair."

Sam takes off his shoes and climbs into bed with you, sitting next to you against the headboard. There's a TV show on pause on the screen across the room on your bookshelf. "So now what? What would Kevin do today?"

"Kevin is mostly my human stuffed animal while I get through all the worst of the emotional stuff and watch comfort shows. And he gets me comfort food and makes sure I stay hydrated -especially today- because of the crying."

Sam nods. _Seems easy enough._ "OK. And what are we watching?"

" _Big Bang Theory_. It's funny. Basically, a sitcom about nerds and them trying to navigate life and their street smart neighbor, Penny."

"No _Aliens_ , Agent Ripley?" Agent Ellen Ripley is one of your other favorite aliases.

"I don't need images of anything bursting out of anyone's uterus this week."

Sam nods like what you're saying is the most normal thing in the world. "I see that logic. So what's happening in this episode?"

You look at Sam, studying him. "You _really_ want to know?"

"Kevin knows."

"OK. Get me some of that fried rice I smell with the extra chicken and vegetables, and I'll catch you up on the highlights." You fill Sam in on the first few seasons. "I'd start you at the beginning, but I want to watch the episodes when Penny and Leonard are together."

"How come?"

"It's easy to get really invested in the characters. I have trouble watching them when Leonard is completely into Penny and has so much difficulty expressing it and proving himself to her. And I hate watching Penny as she gets all jealous while Leonard is dating other people after they break up and realizes how much he meant to her before they get back together."

"So no excessive suffering in our TV marathon?"

"Exactly. Another thing: You are going to see a side of me that I work really hard to keep private. You will not share any of this with anyone other than Kevin or Charlie, _especially Dean_."

Sam debates. He doesn't want to upset you, but this has been making him crazy lately. "OK, I don't want to upset you, but why do you worry so much about what Dean thinks? I mean do you worry like that about me? Do you say to Kevin, 'Don't tell Sam . . . insert whatever topic here'?"

You feel like you just got dropped onto a lawn dotted with land mines. You have to tread very carefully. "OK first of all, I _obviously_ worry about what you think, or I wouldn’t have balked at you taking care of me when I’m afflicted with dragon-sickness.” At Sam’s shocked face, you smile. “I know what Kevin calls me. I don't want Dean or you to see me as this total mess and think I can't handle myself out there on a hunt or have it mess up how you see me or make things worse or whatever. I _do_ worry about it with Dean more. He would tease me mercilessly for some of the stuff you know. You usually respect the line. Not that Dean is mean . . . and you _do_ tease me. I don't _know_. I guess the _way_ you tease me doesn't bother me. Dean gets on my nerves."

"Why?"

"Because, I guess, Dean is like my older brother . . . and you're not."

 _I’m complicated, right?_ "Fair enough."

"Were you jealous?"

"I . . ."

"It's ok. I get it. Sometimes, I get a little jealous of how close you two are on the hunt. You guys are a unit. You just _are_. My friendship with Kevin makes that easier. It's nice having someone in the bunker that gets me and anticipates me the way Dean does with you. Kevin and I just are like that with taking care of each other instead of hunting."

Sam nods.

“Also, another thing Kevin does: unless I’m putting myself in harm’s way, he agrees with me no matter what I try to argue. If we watch _Star Wars_ and I decide to cheer for the Empire, he is on _my side_.”

“So no matter what happens, I’m on 'Team You' today _especially_ if that means saving you from yourself?”

“You catch on pretty quick, young Padawan.”

“I thought you were _my_ Padawan.”

You can't help but smile at Sam referring to you as _his anything_. “Only the other three weeks of the month, Winchester. This week, you shall learn from Master Kevin Solo’s example through my erratic instruction. Good luck and may the Force have mercy upon your soul.”

An hour later, while Sam takes the leftovers to the kitchen to refrigerate until dinner, you text Kevin:

 

 

> You: Kevin Solo Tran, Honor Roll Student, what precisely the fuck are you up to?!

There's no response. You quickly put your phone away before Sam comes back.

* * *

A second meal and a while later, you are watching episodes of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ with Sam. You watch Buffy go through the library to find Kendra dead while Whistler gives one of your favorite lines: "Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does . . . So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are."

Sam watches you mouth the words along with the show. You've clearly seen this moment a hundred times. You can feel something inside yourself folding in on itself, getting stronger while you watch, and Sam can see that steel form in your eyes. He remembers what you said in the library before you burst into tears, about being worried that if he saw you, unguarded, he'd see you as weak, but watching you now with tears and fire in your eyes, Sam wonders if you have any idea how strong you are.

Another episode or so later, you're crying as Xander visits Willow in the hospital: "Come on, Will. Look, you don't have a choice here. You gotta wake up. I need you, Will. I mean, how am I gonna pass trig, you know? (chuckles) And who am I gonna call every night... and talk about everything we did all day? You're my best friend. You've always...I love you." Sam, wraps an arm around your shoulders.

You cry when Buffy sends Angel to Hell and again as you skip ahead to the episode where Angel and Buffy are reunited. By the time you start crying through Angel's apparent death, you're under Sam's arm crying into his cuff while you finish watching. “I can’t imagine having to do that: kill someone I love to save the world. And he gets his soul back a minute too late . . . he has no idea why . . . ugh.”

Sam squeezes you closer for a minute, rubbing your arm. _Yeah; I wish it was more of a leap for me to imagine that._

By the time Buffy and Angel get back together, you're crying against his chest. Sam just holds, you, stroking your hair and giving you water to drink in between bouts of tears. "I thought you said no excessive suffering in our TV marathon?"

"Yeah, but then I needed to watch strength in the face of suffering."

Sam nods, like this statement make sense to him too, and in a way it does. "I get that. So if Kevin was here you were going to spend all day crying because you felt like we're not ok?"

"Sam . . ." Your tone is a warning. _Why can't he just let this go for a few more days?_

Sam can feel you tense under his arm, instantly understanding that you might feel like he's pushing you again. "Look, I'm not trying to push; I'm just surprised. You've seemed . . . I guess I just had no idea you were so concerned or that if we weren't ok, that you'd be so upset."

"Sam . . . " You start and stop. You feel yourself getting furious and that's not how you want to have this conversation, not that you want it at all right now. This is one of those very dangerous conversations and the last thing you want is for Sam to tell you how he really cares about you as his friend _while you were PMSing_. You might kill him on principle. _But it's Sam. Maybe he's just feeling insecure about our friendship since we haven't had much time together lately and when we have, things have been confusing._ You took a deep breath and start over. "Sam, let's have a real minute where we can at least admit that things between us have been complicated since March."

"Agreed."

"And in the midst of that, things between us have gotten a little awkward and strained at times."

"They have."

"Well, that bothers me. I don't like that things have been that way. Maybe I've been hiding that too well from you. I mean Cas and Dean are great, but I feel closer to you and Kevin and Charlie. Charlie doesn't live here, and between the tablet and Talia, Kevin's been pretty busy lately. Dean and Cas aren't exactly my book buddies, and it's been lonely with things so messed up."

"I missed you too. I don't mean to bring things up that you don't want to talk about, but I guess having you tell me you missed me at the motel didn't quite sync up with my memory of the last six months, so it's been hard to reconcile. When you said . . .  what you said in the library, I guess it was just nice to think you weren't OK either because things between you and me have been distant lately."

Words can be so dangerous once they leave your mouth. No matter how well-intentioned they are. If Sam knew, those words could become the rope that hung your life and everything that mattered. "I have a history of . . ." _Forming romantic attachments to my friends._ "Complicated friendships. Part of what I lo-appreciate about Kevin and Garth and Cas and Dean is that it’s _not_ complicated with them. I like them as my friends and they like me the same way and we’re happy with where things are. It’s easy, uncomplicated. I’ve had friends where things got complicated, and we tried to preserve our friendship. And I still lost them the second I tried to move on even if they already moved on before I did. I’ve had friends where we acted on it and kept going back and forth between thinking we should be friends or thinking we should be more or thinking we should be friends with benefits; it was an emotional nightmare. Again, every time I wanted more with that friend or someone else there were negative consequences and again, we’re not in contact anymore."

"So . . . you don’t want a _complicated_ friendship?" He's careful; not to add 'with me.' He wants to ask what your thoughts are on a romantic one, but he waits. He remembers what Crowley said about you not wanting him as a ‘just for sex friend’ because he was too complicated, and while what you're saying is close enough to that to make him nervous, he's not about to let a demon determine his actions without looking into it further.

"I don’t want to lose your friendship. That’s the one thing I’m completely sure about. I mean, clearly, we’re never gonna be uncomplicated friends. If that was possible, six months apart would have sorted that out. Clearly, we’re never going to be in a situation where we don’t want more on some level from each other. We just have to figure out what we want that to look like . . ."

Sam is about to tell you _exactly_ what he wants things between you to look like when you start talking again.

"It's funny, there were so many times in my life when I thought I knew exactly what I wanted until it was within reach, and then I realized I was wrong. Sometimes you think you want something, and then you have it and find that it’s just not a good fit. I'm scared that could happen with us. I'm scared we don't want the same things, and it will break our friendship, break us. That's why I don't want to talk about it more right now, why I didn't want to discuss it at all, but we've talked this much already, so I thought you should know that much."

He heard every word you said and really, after everything, it's more than he hoped for. The piece that really sticks for him are that you're not sure what you want to do about him other than solidify your friendship. He heard the other things your said too, the ones that suggested that at the very least his friendship with you was unique, special, he can't for a second really believe you mean it the way he wants you to. It's easier to think you're just trying to let him down easy, to prepare him for that, and it's safer too. He only loses the ones that really care about him too.

Sam tips your chin up to look at him. "Hey, _we're_ OK." Sam gestures with his hand between you both. "We might not know what that means exactly, but we're _not broken_."

"Yeah?" You venture a glance up to Sam's face and his eyes are huge and wet.

"Yeah." He doesn't say anything; he just pulls you into a gentle moose hug, mindful of your ribs.

"I know I haven't spent much time with you lately, Sam, but that's sort of been because I feel so close to you and how important you are to me, which I know sounds really backwards, but I mean before that last hunt . . . have you ever seen me cry before that?"

"No."

"But I _was crying_ because of all the tension between us, because I missed you, because I was afraid to lose you, and afraid to break us . . . I . . . I meant what I said Sam . . . I _want_ to trust you to be there for me, but this is different. Letting you take care of me while I'm like this is a HUGE leap from where we were before, and from where we've been lately . . . it feels overwhelming."

"Can you tell me why?"

"Because this is me at my worst, at my most vulnerable, most miserable, least in control, most uncensored, and I'm afraid."

"Kevin's seen you like this, and he still wants to be your friend."

You scoff. "Yeah, so much so that Kevin couldn't even tell me in person or by text that he asked you to stay with me because he was afraid of my reaction. He's so glad we're friends that he couldn't wait to hand me off."

Sam cups your face with one hand. "Hey; I don't think that's why he left us together. I think Kevin asked me to take care of you because he's a good friend, and he _knows_ we've missed each other. He knew if he asked you, you'd be too afraid to say yes, but he trusts our friendship. Kevin trusts _me_ the way you _want_ _to_ , and he knows we're gonna be ok. If you can't trust me, trust Kevin. Can you do that?"

"I can. I trust Kevin." You nod, looking Sam in the eye. It's as close as you can get to saying _you trust Sam_.

Sam kisses your forehead. "Good."

You hold Sam a little closer, swamped a little with warm fuzzies and burying your face back into his flannel-covered chest for a minute. "I'm glad Kevin had to go. I think you're right: we needed this, and Kevin knew it."

"Agreed; look,-"

"Sam . . ." You're crying harder now and even Sam sounds a little choked up.

Sam holds up a hand. "I told you I wouldn't press and I'm not. But you should know that I want us to stay friends too. So as long we both want that, and keep fighting for that, I don't think we'll lose anything. I promise that even if we want different things, I won't give up on our friendship. I won't stop fighting for it. I won't run."

"I won't either, Sam. I won't disappear again. I know you won't believe that until we get through a few messes, and I don't run off, but I'm staying as long as I'm wanted."

"Then you're staying. Also, I think your PMS might be contagious."

“I don’t think a tampon would help you.” You laugh. "Should I get you a maxi pad? Some Midol?"

Sam laughs too. "Let's wait that one out for now, but I might need some chocolate. Also, let's not tell Dean about this either."

"Agreed."

Sam gives you a last squeeze before getting up, laughing at both of you and wiping his face, and you sit up, wiping your eyes. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanna pick the next thing we watch? Your comfort pick -anything you want- no judgment."

Sam sort of looks stunned for a minute. He can’t remember the last time he just got to pick a movie without a long debate with someone -usually Dean- that almost always ends with him caving.

You see his expression and roll your eyes. “I thought we _just_ established that I care about your opinion.”

Sam smiles. "Yeah, that sounds good. How about I get us some dinner and chocolate too?"

"Sounds perfect . . . And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Please hurry back . . . I, um, I don't like being alone when I'm like this, you know?"

He squeezes your hand. "Fifteen minutes, tops."

As soon as Sam leaves the room, you send another text to Kevin, and he responds almost immediately:

            You: Thank you, sneaky hobbit

            Kevin: :)

♪ _Arms_ by Christina Perri♪

 _♪I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart, but you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start._  
You put your arms around me, and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go. You put your arms around me and I'm home. How many times will you let me change my mind and turn around? I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown. I hope that you see right through my walls. I hope that you catch me 'cause I'm already falling. I'll never let our love get so close. You put your arms around me and I'm home. ♪  
  
♪The world is coming down on me and I can't find a reason to be loved. I never wanna leave you but I can't make you bleed if I'm alone.  
You put your arms around me, and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go...I hope that you see right through my walls. I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling. I'll never let our love get so close. You put your arms around me and I'm home. I try my best to never let you in to see the truth, and I've never opened up. I've never truly loved till you put your arms around me, and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go. I hope that you see right through my walls. I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling. I'll never let our love get so close. You put your arms around me and I'm home. You put your arms around me and I'm home.♪


	18. Dublin Coddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam continues to take care of reader during Shark Week. They also start connecting on a different level. Please note, the part of the reader will be shown as Toothless the Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: FLUFF, Some angst, maybe swearing, sexual tension & innuendo, shameless teasing. Also, the following was written primarily over several months while under the influence of PMS and cramps. Some of it sounds crazy because I took the time to make it as authentic as possible. I hope it doesn’t get too crazy.
> 
> I’m not gonna lie, I LOVE Sam in this one so much. Happy birthday, Sam! This one is SUPER long.
> 
> Thanks to Spectaculacular-Sammy for being my sounding board (especially through the many, many re-writes this chapter went through) and for helping me find images. Her writing is awesome and you should definitely check it out here: http://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy

♪ _Slide_ by  Goo Goo Dolls♪

_♪Could you whisper in my ear: the things you wanna feel; I'd give you anythin' to feel it comin'. Do you wake up on your own and wonder where you are? You live with all your faults. I wanna wake up where you are. I won't say anything at all, so why don't you slide. Yeah, I'm gonna let it slide. Don't you love the life you killed? The priest is on the phone. Your father hit the wall. Your ma disowned you. Don't supposed I'll ever know what it means to be a man. It's somethin' I can't change, I'll live around it. I wanna wake up where you are. I won't say anything at all, so why don't you slide, ooh, slide. And I'll do anythin' you ever dreamed to be complete -little pieces of the nothin' that fall- Oh, May, put your arms around me. What you feel is what you are and what you are is beautiful. Oh, May, do you wanna get married Or run away? I wanna wake up where you are; I won't say anything. And I'll do anythin' you ever dreamed to be complete (Yeah, slide) -Little pieces of the nothin' that fall (yeah slide)- And I'll do anythin' you ever dreamed to be complete (Yeah slide) Little pieces of the nothin' that fall (Oh, oh slide) Yeah, slide between the sheets of all them beds you never knew (Yeah slide). Why don't you slide into my room, just slide into my room, oh, we'll run away, run away, run away.♪_

After a long, exhausting morning of unleashing your inner dragon on Sam, crying about it, and subsequently clearing the air with him, you and Sam spent the rest of the day watching  _Big Bang Theory_ and  _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ in your room while eating comfort food and snuggling under blankets. Having _finally_ admitted that you're both glad Kevin asked Sam to be there for you when you couldn't, you figure you owe Sam a little comfort movie time too.

~

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanna pick the next thing we watch? _Your_ comfort pick -anything you want- no judgment."

Sam looks stunned for a minute. He can’t remember the last time he just got to pick a movie without a long debate with someone -usually Dean- that almost always ends with him caving.

You see his expression and roll your eyes. “I thought we _just_ established that I care about your opinion.”

Sam smiles. "Yeah, that sounds good. How about I get us some dinner and chocolate too?"

"Sounds perfect . . . And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Hurry back . . . Please . . . I, um, I don't like being alone when I'm like this, you know?"

He squeezes your hand. "Fifteen minutes, tops."

As soon as Sam leaves the room, you send another text to Kevin, and he responds almost immediately:

            You: Thank you, sneaky hobbit

            Kevin: :)

After texting Kevin, you head to the bathroom. You take a few minutes to stare at your reflection with dissatisfaction. _PMS goggles are worse than fluorescent lighting. Ugh . . . I look awful from every angle . . . Double ugh_ . . . _Oh yeah . . . to Hell with the ugly duckling . . . Sam seeing me when I feel like the ugly manatee . . . **Outstanding**. Well, it is what it is._

~

When Sam comes back, he moves toward your bookshelf under the TV where the DVDs live to hunt for his movie pick.

That's where you find Sam when you come back, crouching down, his perfect ass sticking out, hair flopping in his face, browsing. You can see the dark gray waistband of his underwear peeking out, and you have to force your mind to focus on something _other_ than praying for belt failure _again_.

 _One of these days, Cas is going to grant that prayer and then he'll explain why to Sam, and it's going to be so embarrassing._ "What sort of thing are you looking for?"

"I'm not sure yet; I'm just enjoying your organizational system."

Your eyes narrow. It's a reflex by now; Kevin always teases you about not using an alphabetical system for your DVDs. "Or _lack_ thereof? Is _that_ what you're about to add?"

Sam chuckles. _Such a temperamental dragon._ "No. There's _clearly_ a pattern. It's just not alphabetical or chronological. It's sort of a genre system, but more complex than that. Like you have all these movies here, they're all comic book-inspired, right? But you have them organized by their comic book universe too. Like all the Marvel movies are separate from the DC films."

"So  . . . it _makes sense_ to you?" _I have never wanted you more._

He grins. "So far anyway. How about _The Neverending Story_?"

"Falco-or!"

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

You both settle in to consume another round of Chinese food, leaning back, sitting on your bed, side by side.

Sam enjoys the nostalgia, watching, remembering the way he had to beg Dean to let him watch it as a kid, the way he offered Dean all his quarters for the arcade that week. "I loved this movie as a kid."

"Somehow, it's easy to picture a young Sam Winchester, hiding in a school attic, reading some giant book with supernatural properties to escape reality." _Ugh and the parallels don't end there . . . dead mom . . . absentee Dad . . . poor Sam._

He looks over at you a minute. When he left, you were curled up against him, even before the emotional revelations. But Sam notices that now that he's back, you're a little wary again, not entirely sure what to do with him. "Fortunately, I never actually found a book like that, or my dad would have made us salt and burn it."

You feel so conscious of the physical gap between you and Sam right now, Like you could quantify the precise amount number of molecules if you tried. "More like you'd have grabbed Dean and hopped in, and I'd be sitting here alone right now."

Sam considers giving you your space, letting you figure it out on your own . . . _Fuck that. Kevin said to take care of her, and she said to protect her from herself, so that's what I'll do._ Sam tucks a blanket around you both and then lifts his arm, inviting you to curl under it again. "That'd be a shame."

Feeling both surprised and relieved at Sam's gesture, you snuggle under his arm, forcing yourself not to think about it too much. "It would. Well, if you find that book now, you _better_ take me along. I want to ride a luck dragon." As your brain floods with images of riding Sam as your luck dragon, you decide it's best to keep your mouth shut for awhile.

Sam chuckles again as you settle in to watch the movie together.

~

As the credits roll, Sam looks over at you while your head starts to nod against him. "You falling asleep?"

"Yeah. Looks that way. All that preparing for internal bleeding wears a girl out."

"I'll bet." Sam gets up carefully, helping you lay back on your pillow and starts tucking you in before loading up the tray he brought in with dinner.

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah. I'll let you sleep. Text me when you wake up." Sam heads towards the door, tray in hand.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?" His hand is on your door knob, but he turns towards your tentative voice.

"Stay?"

He freezes, surprised, but tries to play it relaxed. "Does Kevin stay?"

"Not on purpose, but I mean sometimes Kevin or Charlie fall asleep when we're watching movies and we're too tired to move. And when we have Geek Night at Charlie's we all share an air mattress, like three little kittens."

"Three little kittens?"

"From _Despicable Me_?"

"No idea."

"We'll watch that at some point. In the meantime, you're _not_ Kevin, and you and I sleep in the same bed when we hunt because we have each other's back, so maybe we can adjust that part."

Sam nods, trying not to look too excited. "OK; I'll go take these dishes into the kitchen, change for bed, and be right back."

"OK; I'll change and brush my teeth and be here."

~

Sam cleans up the dishes, makes sure all the food is away, and heads to his room. Once there, Sam starts thinking about what to wear to bed. On the road, he'd probably sleep in his jeans and a tee shirt; at the bunker, he might wear a tee shirt and boxers or just the boxers.

Without another person to consult, Sam turns to his reflection in his bedroom mirror. “So I can’t wear jeans and a shirt to bed because that would seem like I’m trying too hard to be casual, but if I wear just boxers like I normally would in the bunker, that would seem really naked and like I’m playing _What Would Dean Do_ instead of _What Would Kevin Do_ . . . But she doesn’t sleep in bed with Kevin on purpose, just with me . . . but not in a sex way . . . except those two times that she asked me not to bring up . . . she’s right: this is ridiculously complicated . . . and if I just wear boxers lots of things are going to get 'brought up' . . . What am I going to do about morning wood? . . . Things I don’t have to worry about as much when there are about four inches of fabric between us between her sleeping bag and the motel covers . . . Maybe I could just wear briefs under my loosest boxers to keep things more contained because there is _no way_ I’m going to make it until morning . . . I will be lucky to make it under the covers . . . oh hell, I’m going to be lucky to make it into the room without her noticing . . . OK whatever I decide, I’m going to have to do something about this,” Sam gestures to his crotch, where his jeans are _barely_ concealing a raging hard-on, “before I go to her room . . . I did say I was going to brush my teeth first . . . I could add a quick shower to make sure I don't smell like someone that's been slow-roasting in blankets and body heat all day _and_ that I don’t crawl into her bed with a sascock of a boner that is practically screaming unresolved sexual tension . . .” Sam looks at himself in the mirror. "Did I really just say that? It's funny right? Sasquatch... sascock? It's funny. Oh god, I'm going crazy. Not only am I talking to myself, but I'm naming my cock … yup that’s what has to happen: jack off in the shower and be done with it." Sam looks down at himself. "And YOU behave.” His cock jumps under the fabric towards his belly. “OK just try, _please_. There is nothing casual about the way you announce yourself at a slumber party.” Sam thinks he sees his cock droop a little, but it's probably his imagination. “OK, crazy or not, I need to shower immediately before she comes looks for me and finds me talking to my penis."

After finishing his conversation with his rebellious sascock, Sam hurries through his shower for the most part, remembering what you said about not wanting to be alone when you were suffering from dragon sickness. _What does she normally do? Cuddle with Kevin? No, she said he doesn't stay at night with her on purpose. I guess she just deals with it._ Sam considers how that scenario might play out if things were different . . . You coming to _his_ bed in the middle of the night, crawling under _his_ covers with him . . . because you're cold . . . not upset over a hunt like the one and only time you _actually_ came into his room at night and slept in his bed at the bunker when it wasn't a naked thing . . . You'd rub yourself against him to get warm . . . and then things would heat up on a whole other level . . .

~

While Sam showers, you try to figure out what to wear to bed too, though you're still feeling like crap so pretty much nothing appeals to you. You can't even wear any cute underwear unless it's black, so you settle for black cotton panties with a wide lace border and a matching camisole because that's about as sexed-up as you can try for when you feel this bloated. Normally you'd skip bottoms this week, but with Sam staying with you, black yoga pants with a high waist sound comfy. You've worn lacey camisoles on hunts before, but it feels like not enough coverage at the moment. So you add a lightweight hoodie. It's cold in the bunker tonight too.

You brush your teeth and put moisturizer on your face and arms before heading back to bed. Sam's not back yet, but you think you hear the shower going. You figure Sam's just getting cleaned up for the night like he does on the road. You pull out _Catching Fire_ from your book shelves - it's been on your mind lately- and start reading, curling on your side under the covers. You skip ahead to Katniss when she asks Peeta to sleep in her compartment because of her nightmares and think about the way you and Sam are with the same issue, while your eyelids get heavier and heavier.

~

Back in his room post-shower, Sam is still trying to figure out what to wear to bed. "OK the tee shirt might be fine . . .” Sam tries on a white tee shirt. “Nope, too naked. I can see my own nipples . . . that could actually cut glass right about now . . . man, it's cold.” He tries on a blue one, short sleeves. “Yeah . . . this could work, no harm in showing off some bare bicep. It looks good . . . not too loose, not too tight . . . I could wear long sleeves instead . . . No, this is good. I mean I want to be casual, but I don’t need to be her sexless friend . . . Kevin already has that spot.” Sam chuckles with himself in the mirror. “Or he _better_ have that spot. I mean what if they used to . . . I’ve never asked; it’s never come up . . . but what if _it_ did come _up_ at some point? . . . They are _really_ close . . . and they’ve been spending a lot of time in her room watching TV lately . . . laughing . .  but Kevin is dating someone . . . but what about before that . . . No, no! I already went down that crazy, jealous road last week. She’s not into Dean, and twice today she said that she sees Kevin as family, like Dean and Cas, not a guy, ergo, she is not into Kevin . . . but maybe she _was_ . . . nope, doesn’t matter now . . . all that matters now is she is into me on _some_ level. She sort of said that when she said we could never be uncomplicated. She just needs to figure out what she wants to do about it, and I just have to find a balance between tempting and pushing and offering while letting things get back to a place where things aren’t weird . . . where we’re just close friends again . . . just hit reset . . . so I can ask her if she wants to be more . . . and no screwing around this time. I’m going to do what I should have done months ago . . . If I had, maybe I could've avoided all of this . . . I'll just asked her out to dinner or something . . . a nice dinner where we dress up outside of a case for a change . . . and then we can come back here . . . and I can help her unzip that dark red dress she has with the zipper that goes all the way down . . . only this time I don’t have to stop when I see her bra clasp like I do after a hunt . . . she always asks me to help her get the zipper . . . _never_ Dean . . . that _has_ to mean _something_ , and I know she can get into it herself . . . she can reach her knife holster on her back easily enough . . . she could definitely take off her dress alone if she wanted to . . . definitely . . . it doesn’t matter . . . this time . . . it’ll be me, and it’ll be different . . . and we can keep going . . . if she wants to . . . I hope she does . . . OK, must calm down before I need another shower . . . or I have to find another set of clean clothes . . ." Sam decides on track pants that snap up the sides over boxers and briefs in an attempt to desensitize himself and heads down to your room the sound of his pants swishing loudly.

~

You're somehow in the library. The last thing you remember is sleeping in your room, but now you're walking through the library . . . When did the stacks get so long? You see Sam sitting at a table working. You greet him, but he doesn't look up. Figuring he didn't hear you, you go to him, but when you try to touch his arm, you can't. You don't go through him, but your hand can't make contact either. There seems to be an invisible barrier between your hand and Sam. You start to yell for him, but he can't hear you. Dean comes in the room to talk to Sam, but he can't hear you either and again you can't make contact with him. You can touch other things in the room, books, furniture, but nothing you say or do makes any difference. You see them all come and go: Kevin, Castiel, Charlie, Dean, Sam. You can't make contact with anyone. It's as if you're not on their plane anymore, but you can still see them. You can _almost_ hear them. Almost. It's like muted murmurs, nothing you can actually make out. It's maddening. You keep trying to get them to hear you, saying anything you think might help, and eventually you start to say things you couldn't say if they could hear you because _maybe_ if you admit those things aloud, it'll break whatever is keeping you from them. 

You take a closer look at Sam. Every time someone comes into the library where he’s working, he looks up, and every time he’s disappointed. There’s this sadness on his face -in his eyes- that is so unguarded when the others aren’t in the room with him. It’s deep enough to drown in.

You stand in front of him, yelling, waiving your arms, trying to reach him. “Sam! Why can’t you see me? Sam, I’m so sorry, so sorry. I kept my promise. I didn’t run. Why can’t you hear me? I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again. I won’t . . . just come back. Come back. Please. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you, would never mean to . . . just come back. _I’ll fix it._ Please. I’m _right here_."

~

When Sam gets close to your room, he hears you crying out for him, and it sounds like you're having a nightmare. He runs down the last hallway, and he can see you thrashing in bed when he opens the door. It's been a long time since Sam's seen you like this, but it's been a long time since he's been in this part of the bunker before today, much less at night. Sam crouches beside you. He's out of your reach, but you're not out of his. Sam stretches his arm out to you and gently shakes your shoulder, murmuring reassurances, taking your hand when you strike out blindly. When your hands grabs onto his like a lifeline, he holds on while you bolt awake.

"Sam? Sam. You can see me?"

"I can see you."

"You can feel me?"

Sam rubs his other hand over yours. "I can feel you."

You half spring at Sam to hug him, and half pull him toward you onto the bed. You both end up in a bit of a heap: half on the bed and half off until Sam wraps his arms around you and helps shift both of you back onto the bed. While you cling to Sam like a lemur, griping him with your arms around his chest crouching in front of him, while Sam sits, legs wrapping around you.

"It's OK _______. I'm right here." Sam heard bits of what you were muttering in your dream. You're not asleep anymore, but your mind hasn't quite caught up with your body. You're still repeating those phrases, but louder, so he can hear you clearly.

"Sam . . . I'm so sorry. So sorry."

"What happened?"

"I was being punished." No one told you in the dream, but you _knew_. "I avoided you . . . and everyone . . . I hurt _everyone_ . . . so I was punished. I could see you all, and I could touch things, but no one could see me, no one could hear me. _I couldn't **reach** any of you._ I couldn't make contact. I was being kept apart because of what I did. I'm _so sorry,_ Sam. I screamed and tried to get your attention, but you couldn't see me. I tried and I tried . . . but nothing helped. _You couldn't see me._ "

He strokes you hair soothingly while you shiver. "It was just a nightmare. It's OK. I'm here. It's over now. Just take a few deep breaths for me, OK?"

You try to breathe deeply, but your lungs feel so heavy -the weight of old grief and fear mingling with new- drowning you. "I'm so sorry. I think it was a spell. I figured it out, though."

"What do you mean?" Sam tries to soothe you by running his hands over your back and hair, but physically you're still _clearly_ terrified, and he's not sure what else to say. He expected your dream to be about monsters based on the way you're quaking against him. Hearing you say it was just about being in a sort of near-ghost state, and seeing how that rattles you, really brings home what he and the rest of them mean to you in a way that nothing else has yet.

"I wasn't allowed to be a part of your reality -any of you- because of what I did, because of all the things I kept inside . . . but when I said them . . . when I let some of the worst of it out . . . You were here, and you could find me. I had to make it right first. I had to say things out loud to make it right, or I'd be trapped forever: stuck, _alone,_ always on the outside looking in . . . living in parallel, but never intersecting. I had to make it right . . . _I'm so sorry, Sam._ I'll make it right. I won't run. I won't hide. I promise, I'll make it right."

Sam has even less ideas about what to say now. He hates seeing you like this, but he's caught somewhere between stunned at the content of your dream and wanting you to make it right, with him _and_ with you. _I wish I could tell her that I'm over all those months of being cut off. I'm sure that would help, but I can't lie_ _about this._ So he says the things he _knows_ are true. "It'll be OK. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. You're safe."

And that's it. You just break. Sam holds you while you sob against him. When you go limp against him, Sam gently, respectfully, helps you both lay back in bed, works the covers over you both and he holds you while he continues stroking your hair and rubbing your back. Only after he hears your breathing turn slow and steady while you nuzzle deeper into his chest like a sleeping kitten, Sam relaxes and drifts off to sleep.

♪ _Safe & Sound_ (from The Hunger Games Soundtrack) by Taylor Swift♪

_♪I remember tears streaming down your face when I said, "I'll never let you go" when all those shadows almost killed your light. I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone," but all that's dead and gone and passed tonight. Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You'll be alright. No one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound. Don't you dare look out your window, darling, everything's on fire. The war outside our door keeps raging on. Hold on to this lullaby, even when music's gone, gone. Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You'll be alright. No one can hurt you now. Come morning light. You and I'll be safe and sound.♪_

~

The next morning, Sam wakes first, sleeping with you curled up snugly beside him. He's ridiculously uncomfortable, because -between his track pants, the many blankets on your bed, your body heat, _and_ his own- he's sweating like he's in the Everglades. But Sam's not moving for anything just yet. Normally, he'd get up, sort himself out, and go for a run, but he'd rather be uncomfortable than risk you waking up alone and scared again. And he'd be lying if he said he isn't completely enthralled by feeling like he's guarding you while you sleep.

When do you wake up, you don't really remember your dreams from the rest of the night. You have a feeling they were just reflections of reality: Sam holding you. Still only half awake, really, you don't fully notice the feel of Sam pressing against you, all you notice is how hot you are. You start to shove down your yoga pants to kick them off and get comfortable, so you can go back to sleep, but as you start to work them over your hips, Sam's hand closes, gently, yet firmly around your wrist.

"I don't think you really want to do that just now."

You freeze, waking fully all at once and taking in the situation: how your hand, still gripping your pants has to be inches from Sam's crotch and how you were almost down to you underwear in bed with Sam, which while an appealing idea, is potentially a very messy situation if your monstrous cramps are any indication. Now that you're awake, the pain seeps into your awareness, unrestrained. "Sorry, Sam. Didn't mean to almost expose myself there. I'm just so . . . uncomfortable . . . it's _so hot_ under here."

Sam sighs in relief, then starts laughing as he remembers a similar situation when you first started hunting with them. "It really is. Remember that one time that we were staying in a motel and you half woke up in the middle of the night tossing clothes out of your sleeping bag like it was a party canon before falling back to sleep?”

“ _Hey_ , I was _roasting_. I was still wearing underwear when I went back to sleep, and I had my sleeping bag on.”

Sam chuckles. “By the time I woke up, you didn't anymore. I woke up that morning with you in only your underwear, next to me, curled around your sleeping bag.”

“OH . . . ri-ight. Huh. Whoops.” You grin at Sam sheepishly.

Sam starts moving out from under the covers. "Now that you're up, I'm gonna make a run down the hall. Be right back."

"Sounds like a good idea." You try to get up, and your entire torso clenches in pain. It feels like your uterus is trying to evacuate. “Oh God. I can’t. Ugh. I'm gonna stay here a little longer, like until I'm done bleeding out."

Sam scoops you up, holding you against him. "Come on. I've got you."

When Sam has you inside the bathroom on your end of the bunker, you assure him you can take it from here and set about cleaning yourself up. Sam makes a dash for the bathroom on his end of the bunker, so he can take care of his needs and shave.

You luck out and don't need a change of clothes. You even manage to make it back to your room by the time Sam returns.

Sam sees you curled in bed clutching your abdomen in pain. "What can I do?"

"I need my heating pad." You point to a drawer by your bed.

Sam pulls it out and sets it up for you. He starts rubbing your back while you wait for the heating pad to warm up.

"I need pain pills too." Your stomach starts to growl, and Sam's stomach growls back.

"You probably need food first and so do I. What do you want?"

"Scrambled eggs and baked beans."

He raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Hunted in England for awhile. It's a thing there. And fries if we have them or hash browns . . . oh and tea."

"OK, you got it. Want me to put something on the TV to distract you until I get back?"

"Help me Obi wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."

Sam glances through your DVDs and sees a boxed set of _My Little Ponies: Friendship is Magic_. He shakes his head, putting the DVD on. _I'm probably going to regret this._ He's wrong, though. Sam sees your head perk up and your eyes get hopeful and focused as soon as the theme song starts to play. _On second thought, even if I end up watching cartoons about rainbows and unicorns all day, it might be worth if she keeps looking that damn cute._

You look up at Sam with wide, grateful eyes and have to bite back every teasing thing you would normally say to Kevin or Charlie because they all would sound weird to say to Sam, like 'marry me?' or 'to me, you are perfect.' Instead, you answer, "The Force is strong in you."

Sam smiles and heads out.

He starts thinking about what you said the night before: your desire to 'make things right' and 'share the things you kept inside.' _But how do I make that easier?_ He chews on the question while he makes breakfast, brews tea for both of you, and then starting to pull together a plan, he texts Charlie.

~

♪ _Talk to Me_ by Lauren Aquilina♪

 _♪Game after game we play, our twisted snakes and ladders, time for the rules to change. You're in my arteries. You're bolting through my body; I'll never be the same. So why won't you talk to me? Why won't you just talk to me? There's a universe inside your head, constellations of the things you left unsaid. Talk to me or watch me leave. Wave after wave of your meaningless conversation, changing the subject again. Are you ever gonna wake up? Are you ever gonna wake up? Or are you gonna let me just walk away? Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you just talk to me? There's a universe inside your head, constellations of the things you left unsaid. Talk to me._ _♪_  
♪ _You will bite your tongue until it bleeds, hanging by the skin of your own teeth. Silence is your loudest scream. I don't know why you're hiding. You will bite your tongue until it bleeds, hanging by the skin of your own teeth. Silence is your loudest scream. I don't know why you're hiding. Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you just talk to me? There's a universe inside your head, constellations of the things you left unsaid. Talk to me. Game after game we play, our twisted snakes and ladders, time for the rules to change._ _♪_

After breakfast, Sam follows Charlie’s first idea and suggests watching _The Hunger Games_.

You love the idea; the story for the trilogy has been playing in your head lately for some reason. You get as comfortable as you can sitting up in bed while Sam switches out Equestria for Panem. Then Sam comes back and sits beside you while you both eat breakfast. Your progress is slow because your stomach feels untrusting toward food, but Sam keeps nudging you to eat, and you keep smiling at him with your version of puppy eyes and eating. After you've gotten about halfway through the plate, your stomach feels better, and you finish the rest without his prompting.

You're about thirty minutes in when you realize why your brain has been fixated on the series recently. Sam's already put the trays aside and is nursing his tea while you finish up your breakfast: mug in one hand and toast in the other.

"You know, I _get_ Katniss. When I started hunting with you guys, I was in a pretty untrusting place overall."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'd lost my last friend before Bobby paired me off with Garth."

Sam sips his tea. "I'm not sure I knew Bobby had a hand in pairing your two up."

"You and Dean were up to your ears in something at the time. It was before Kevin."

"Probably Leviathans." _Or me losing my mind . . ._

You nibble pensively at your buttered toast. "Anyway, I was at a pretty low spot then, but I think Bobby sensed that. Garth was amazing. He was _exactly_ what I needed. He was honest and goofy and not afraid to make fun of himself. He made me feel OK to be myself again, at least a little."

"Wait. Did you and Garth . . ."

"Oh no. No. No. No. No. We just hunted and talked, and we helped each other pick up people, but no. No, Garth was _my_ _Yoda_ , not my Luke Skywalker."

Sam chuckles at your emphatic response. "So the answer to that question is . . . _no_. Gotcha. And _who are you_ in that analogy?"

"I'm _obviously_ Mara Jade. The badass who marries Luke."

"Wasn't she kind of . . . confrontational?"

"Oh yeah, and I'm a sweet kitten."

 _You are when you're asleep._ "I'm not gonna touch that. Please continue."

"Wise man. So anyway, I'd lost a long-time-friend-turned-boyfriend, and it shook me. I was so caught up in my grief that my friends couldn't stand to be around me anymore, so I lost them too. Garth got me back on track, but Garth isn't exactly like most people, so after a year, he was still the only one I trusted. I had company when I wanted it, but I never let anyone get close to me: no friendships, no relationships. It was easier in some ways."

"What changed?"

"Garth got a call -from _you_ I think- about Kevin needing protection and help on a translation project. I was Kevin's cover and his bodyguard from the start. After we were rescued from Crowley and came to the bunker, Kevin and I stayed close, but it was easy trusting him too. I had to protect him. He was like a brother. You may have noticed that I avoided you a little at first."

"A little?" Sam snorts before he can stop himself. "You practically acted like I made your skin crawl at first. I thought . . . well anyway, you got over it."

"What did you think?"

Sam's eyes fix on a point a lot further away than Panem when he answers. "Some hunters blame me for the near apocalypse awhile back. Some of them are still pretty angry about it. They have a right to be, really, so I would have understood if that was why you acted that way."

You take Sam's hand and rub your thumb over his knuckles. "I knew about you and Dean back then. I made it my business to know some of it since I was going to be working with you. From what I gathered, sounds like you got played. I know something about that. I also know you and Dean stopped it."

Sam smiles sadly. _I bet there's a lot about me you don't know yet._

You see Sam's face and not being able to read his thoughts, think he's remembering the way you treated him. You squeeze his hand. "The way I acted wasn't about you in _that way_."

"So how was it?"

You nudge him gently in the ribs, playfully. "Well you _are_ awful big and scary."

Sam turns to look at you, hurt in his eyes until he sees that you're teasing him. _She doesn't know. She didn't mean it that way. She doesn't know they saw me as a monster._ He makes himself smile for you. "You're pretty brave sitting this close to me then."

"Yeah well, your puppy eyes have me lured into complacency. Anyway, things with you and me were sort of like Peeta and Katniss. You know how she's really standoffish around him at first. She's afraid to trust him, afraid he'll only hurt or betray her?"

"Sure, but why _me_ as Peeta? Why not Kevin or Garth?" He's not arguing. He'd rather be the love interest in this analogy, but he needs to know why for it to matter.

"Because . . . you did something they didn't. Kevin didn't trust me at first. We got to know each other, slowly let each other in, and now we take care of each other. Garth is Garth; he's different. He doesn't have walls like the rest of us, not even an invisible fence he doesn't turn on. Kevin is my Rue, and Garth is my . . ."

"Cinna?"

" _Exactly_ ; Garth is my Cinna."

"And the rest of us?"

"Ah well, Charlie is my Prim, Dean is obviously Finnick, and Castiel is Annie?"

Sam tries to keep his voice as playful as he can. "And _me_?"

" _You_ . . . You remember that one hunt you and Dean helped Garth and I on when I met you?"

"Yeah." Sam pours you both fresh mugs of tea.

You keep your eyes focused in your mug like you were using a pensive to help you remember the details for him. "You we were hunting down that big vamp nest, and you trusted me to have your back. For all you two really knew, I could have been playing Garth, Kevin, both of you just to get into the bunker. I mean, I wasn't, but you two just trusted me. You did it without hesitation. You just treated me like someone you'd hunted with for years."

He nods, remembering. "It felt that way at the time. It was strange. I'm not all that trusting either, really, and yet, I trusted you instinctively."

"Instinctively, that's it exactly. I was so sure over and over that you were going to prove me a fool for trusting you, but you didn't. You and Dean didn't just trust me on the hunt, you invited me to come here, to your unplottable, secret sanctuary. And when I came here, you were so welcoming even though I was so . . . guarded and awkward around you. That night here -after I'd been staying here awhile, and I had nightmares- you heard me crying out in my sleep, and you came. You didn't try anything; you just came in my room and calmed me down. You held me until I calmed down, and then you went back to your room. You never said a thing about it."

"I remember. You stopped avoiding me after that."

"You didn't make me so unnerved anymore." You think about it some more and something stands out to you that's been bugging you for a while. "Hey, so while we're remembering, Sam, _why_ _did_ you come in that night? We weren't close before that. I mean I wasn't harboring some grudge against you, but _you_ didn't know that. Coming into my room in the middle of the night while I was scared and in the throes of a nightmare . . . For all you knew, I might have shot you."

Sam thinks about it for a minute, remembering. _Maybe I couldn't understand why you were avoiding being alone with me like I was a dangerous monster in the bunker, when you trusted me enough to share a bed on the road even if you did insist on your sleeping bag as some sort of cuddle condom. Maybe I was just worried about whatever happened to you that made you so distrusting, so I started keeping a closer eye on you._ "It was stupid, I guess. I didn't think about that any more than it ever crossed my mind that you might be playing us. I guess, I figured if Garth thought you could be trusted to come back with us, you weren't harboring homicidal feelings for me. Or maybe I didn't think it through. Maybe, I heard you, and I just reacted. Maybe, I thought I could prove that you didn't need to be afraid of me, that you could trust me."

"You did." You look up at him for just a moment, hoping he can see in your eyes what you can't put into words. "We started sharing a bed on hunts not long before that. I guess that's why I didn't panic when you came in my room. You didn't try anything when we shared a bed on the road, so I figured you weren't up to anything problematic."

Sam meets your gaze for a minute before he smiles wryly and turns back to his mug. "I remember the night you came into _my_ room after that one hunt."

"Me too. That was a bad hunt. You didn't even ask why. You knew. You just let me crawl into bed beside you."

Sam remembers that night well. He was in bed reading, thinking of you . . . not in a naked way . . . he was just worried. You weren't right after that hunt. Something about the ghost you took out threw you. Sam watched you _not_ shake it off all the way home. He heard your knock and told you to come in. He knew your footfalls by then. You weren't crying, but you looked _rattled_. You didn't say anything, and he didn't either. He just gestured for you to come in and get under the covers. "Yeah . . . about that, why did you?"

"What?" You suspect what, but you're not sure how to answer, so you're stalling.

"Why _did_ you come into _my_ room to sleep?"

"You were on the hunt. You _knew_ I wasn't OK because of that without me explaining. And I'd spent the last few nights bunking with you in that motel room, so you were the first one I thought of . . . I don't _know_. I guess, I wanted to feel safe. I didn't want to have nightmares."

He can feel you getting agitated. You're not _really_ answering his question, but what you're _not saying_ speaks volumes toward what Castiel told him. So he lets it go for now. "I'm glad I made you feel safe."

You go back to watching the movie, letting it calm you down after sharing more than you meant to say.

Sam isn't really watching the movie fully anymore. He's digesting what you've told him so far and trying to think of an appropriate way to thank Kevin for this time. Then he sees a flashback in the movie that makes no sense to him. "Hey, you read the books right?"

"Yeah. Loved 'em. You can borrow them anytime."

"Thanks, just wondering, what's the scene that Katniss and Peeta keep flashing back to with the bread?"

"After her dad dies, her mom can't function. Katniss has to take care of them. That winter, her family is starving, broke, near death, and she's searching trash bins for food in the wealthy part of the district. Peeta sees her there and he burns the bread on purpose even though he gets hit for it, because he's had a crush on her. Those loaves save Katniss and her family from starvation and give her hope that they can survive. They lead her to remember that her father taught her how to survive, and she starts to believe in herself again."

Sam nods, tucking you both in more closely with a blanket. "She starts to _trust_ _herself_ again." _Like you've been slowly starting to trust **yourself** again._

"Exactly; she calls Peeta 'The Boy With the Bread' and because of what he did, she survived. Because he did it unselfishly, getting nothing in return, and restoring her hope, her faith in herself at her lowest point, she says she will _'never stop owing him.'_ I get that."

"How so?"

 _Because of you, Sam. You were kind to me when you had no reason to be, when you didn't really know me, when you owed me nothing, when I acted afraid of you, and you were still kind to me even though I did **so much** to not deserve it. _ "I just do."

Sam doesn't say anything at first. He hopes he knows why. He just wraps his arm around your shoulders, holding you closer, and you nuzzle your head back into his flannel-covered chest. "Do you think the only reason Katniss saves Peeta is because she owes him? Or do you think she has feelings for him?"

"I think she saves him because she cares for what he represents to her. She's saving part of herself, saving him. I don't think she can feel for people beyond that yet. She's too broken. She _wants_ to feel that way about him . . . maybe she does on some level . . . but she can't feel it consciously, not yet. In the book, she talks about sleeping in the cave with Peeta and says that's the most safe she's felt since her father died. He makes her feel that."

 _Peeta makes her feel safe, the way I made you feel safe that night and last night._ "So I guess we'll have to watch more today or tomorrow and see what happens."

"You sure you're in for another day?"

Sam pretends to consider and then he shrugs. "So far, you've been pretty easy to take care of for a dragon."

You chortle into your tea and nudge him. "Yeah well, you're not so bad at taking care of me either."

~

♪ _Fools_ by Lauren Aquilina♪

♪ _Those hardest to love need it most. I watched our bodies turn to ghosts, such good friends, it has to end, it always does; that's the way life is. Do we take that risk? And so it all boils down to this: We've got our aim, but we might miss. We are too fragile just to guess, and I've been in this place before. Fine as we are, but we want more. That's human nature at its best. What if we ruin it all, and we love like fools? And all we have we lose? I don't want you to go, but I want you so. So tell me what we choose._ _♪_  
  
♪ _Friends, I watched us as we changed; the feelings in my headspace rearranged. I want you more than I've wanted anyone. Isn't that dangerous? The anticipation before the kiss mirrored in my shaking lips. Oh god, I feel so unprepared. The two of us so out of place, my feelings written on my face. Got what I want, but now I'm scared. What if we ruin it all, and we love like fools? And all we have we lose? I don't want you to go, but I want you so. So tell me what we choose_ ♪

After lunch, Sam clears the dishes and presents his second idea: "OK, so I know you're still feeling crappy, and I had an idea for something we could do today to make you feel better and keep your mind off things."

"OK." _It better not require moving. I feel like I'm bleeding to death._

"So yesterday was _What Would Kevin Do_ , right?"

"Yeah." _He looks so excited. How does he have so much energy? I could seriously keep impersonating a lump of blankets for the rest of the day._

"So today is _What Would Charlie Do_ and Charlie said if she were here, she would do a spa day with you."

That gets your full attention. "You called Charlie?"

"Well, I texted her. You made a good point yesterday: she knows better than I do what you're going through, so I texted her for suggestions."

You just stare at him a minute. You can't move quickly anymore without risking terrible pain or nausea, but you really want to hug him or cry . . . or both. "I can't believe you did that."

Sam sees you tearing up, and pulls you in for a hug. "I said I would take care of you."

"I know." _It's stupid. It's not that big a deal._ You say these things to yourself, but believe _none_ of it. Sam really is pulling out all the stops to prove that he can take care of you. Even after everything you put him through, he's still keeping up his end: proving that he will be there for you, not just with words but with one little gesture at a time. You will never stop owing Sam either.

He holds you until he feels you bring your head up, then he loosens his grip. "How about to start I can rub your back? I bet you still have some kinks in it from your ribs getting popped out last week."

You nod your head and scoot forward with Sam's help, so he can slide behind you. Sam works on your back and shoulders. You don't moan like you did in the motel. The contrast between Sam's efforts and your cramps balances out enough to keep you from embarrassing yourself. After working on your muscles for awhile, Sam offers to brush your hair.

"I'm not helpless, Sam."

"I know that. I just thought it would be relaxing for you. You can brush my hair then if you want."

You consider the idea; brushing Sam's magnificent hair has _great_ appeal. "OK." You answer, trying to keep the excitement from your voice. You mostly succeed, but Sam hears it anyway and chuckles.

While Sam brushes out your hair, you both watch Peeta and Katniss trying to establish a real friendship by asking and answering simple questions, and Sam has another idea. He offers you the brush. "You want to braid it?"

"What?"

"Last night, you said you had things you wanted to say out loud to make things right. I know you were half-awake then, but you've said it before too. I'll make you a deal: you promise to _never_ tell Dean about _any_ part of our spa day and for every braid you put in my hair, you tell me something real, something hard to say."

"Why just me?"

Sam raises an eyebrow. "You want me to tell you something too?"

"Yeah, but since I'm the one with a debt, you get three truths from me for every one of yours."

"Fair enough."

You bite your lip considering the angles. "So you ask me questions and I _have to_ answer, or I _volunteer_ what I _want_ to tell you?"

"How about you tell me what you need to tell me, and if I need to ask a question, I will."

"If you ask the question, do I have to answer it?"

"No."

"If I answer _all_ your questions, do you _have_ to answer all mine?"

"No; I think we both have things we're not ready to say. We play this game, we both respect that." This game is immediately getting far more serious than Sam planned, but you're still agreeing, and it feels important, so he's letting you spell it all out.

You press your lips together, and then take the brush from his hand. "Deal." You move the brush through Sam's hair considering what to share. "So truth . . . that bad hunt . . . the one that had me crawl into your bed . . . I knew the ghost when he was alive. He was an ex of mine."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Sam starts to turn, but you use his hair to keep him in place. You're not comfortable with him seeing your face for this story. "I didn't recognize him at first, not until that last moment when he started to disappear. He changed a lot since we broke up. He was possessed for awhile and afterwards he wasn't ever fully human again . . . but still, seeing him like that -dead and still full of so much bitterness- it shook me up. Reminded me of the things he did, the ways he hurt me when he was possessed and after."

"Hurt you how?" Sam tries not to growl, but he knows some of it seeps out.

You can feel Sam tense where he's sitting between your legs while you continue to braid his hair. It's impossible to not feel touched by his pro. "Mind games mostly. He was a manipulative, pathological liar; his favorite games revolved around playing on all my insecurities. Anyway, one night he crossed too many lines, so I tested him by putting holy water in his beer. I exorcised him with some friends, but he'd been that way for a while; he wasn't right after that. All the darkest parts of himself were out, and he didn't want to put them away. He went on active duty overseas about a year later, and I lost his number as fast as I could. He'd gone toxic."

Sam doesn't try to turn again, but he reaches back to cup the hand brushing his hair. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks; it was a long time ago." You take a deep breath, shaking it off. "Your turn."

Sam gives your hand a light squeeze before he lets it go, trying to think of something equally personal to share. "I've never had a real home. Dean and I grew up on the road, hunting with my dad. We stayed in one place for school here and there, but it was always living out of motels or the Impala."

You rub Sam's shoulders, squeezing his hand when he moves it to his shoulder to touch your fingers. "Wow; that must have been hard."

"It has been sometimes. For me it was hard leaving _people_ , but I never knew what it was like to have a place to call home. Dean, he remembers living in a house before I was born, so that part's harder for him."

"When it's your turn again, I want to know what it's like for you living here." You start separating out the next section of hair, considering. "So . . . my turn; when I first moved in here, you made me really nervous because you reminded me of all the best parts of the guys friends I've lost one way or another. That's why I avoided you."   _Well, mostly anyway._ "I didn't want to get too close to you, make another friend, and then lose one again."

"What changed your mind?"

"You; you being kind and trusting me without owing me anything or without expecting anything." You chuckle, nudging him a little, trying to lighten what you're saying. "Also your puppy eyes are pretty persuasive, but really, that night I went to your room was a turning point for me. In a weird way, for me, I think _that's_ when we became friends. Like I said this morning, I was not OK after the hunt, and while I think you knew _that_ , you didn't really know until _now_ what was going on with me, but you were still there for me."

"I did know you weren't OK after that hunt, but I'm glad I know why now. That's the only time you've ever done that . . . come into my room when you couldn't sleep."

"I don't even know why I went into your room really . . . it was just instinct, I guess. I mean, it makes sense. Technically, I've shared a bed with you on hunts way more times than the few occasions Kevin and I have crashed together during Shark Week or when he's burning himself out on one of the tablets . . . Lately, I don't need to go anywhere. For awhile there, you seemed to always hear me and wake me up to tell me it was just a nightmare." You ponder that as you're saying it aloud for the first time. "Hey, wait a minute. My room is nowhere near yours, and it's not that close to the library. How did you hear me?"

Sam isn't sure how to answer this. On one hand, he doesn't want to lie. On the other hand, you have set pretty clear conversational boundaries, and he wants to respect them. So he tells you _most_ of the truth. "That first night, I was just up, wandering. I couldn't sleep and I think you and I had some sort of run in that day about a misunderstanding, I think it was something about Dean helping you out with your car. I remember feeling like I needed to apologize whatever it was. I think I was in your hallway see if you were up and talk to you. Then I heard you calling out for help. I didn't know you were dreaming, but when I saw you were, I had to stow my gun before you saw it and drew on me."

"Huh, I guess you did have some sense when you came in then." You tease. "And after that?"

"After that, I started making a point to wander your hallway before I turned in, just in case." _And you started calling out for me in your sleep._

You nod, satisfied. "I think my subconscious mind started getting used to that. Now, in my nightmares, you're in them because, I started expecting you to have my back even then."

"Yeah well, I guess I do."

You start weaving a few sections into place along the side of his head. "Sam? What do you do when _you_ have nightmares?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I wander the halls."

"So when you hear me having a nightmare and wake me up, how often is that because you're up after a nightmare as opposed to you're still up because you were researching a case?"

"It's around fifty-fifty really."

You consider that while running your fingers through his hair, letting the feel of it relax you. "In a weird way, that's sort of a relief."

"Why?"

"I guess because that means I'm not the only one having nightmares that keep me up."

Neither one of you seizes on the realization that _both of you_ don't want to be alone after your nightmares or that _both of you_ seek each other out unconsciously for comfort instinctually.

Sam shakes his head, unintentionally tugging the section of hair from your fingers. "Definitely not. That nightmare you had last night, have you had it before?"

You shrug, even though he can't see you, trying to play it off. "They tend to come in cycles. When that one started, it was less clear at first, just running, fear. Then it shifted. Makes sense when you think about the timing and what was happening with me. Lately, I get that one a lot, ever since the kamara hunt." _When I realized how much I'd hurt everyone trying to protect them- friendship fail._

Sam can feel you getting lost in your head behind him, and tries to change the direction a little. "OK my turn. I like living here, I guess. It's just . . . I've never had a home other than the Impala. I've never been anywhere for very long. I guess it's just hard for me to get attached to places or anything really. I haven't ever had much that was mine. Dean and I have shared almost everything, and we've lost so many people too."

"That's sad, but it makes sense." You finish up the last braid. "I guess me disappearing this summer didn't really help that, huh?"

Sam bites his tongue debating and takes a deep breath; this is about the truth after all. "No. No it didn't."

On impulse, you wrap your arms around his chest, burying your face into his head of braids. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't know. I don't know if I would have done things differently if I had known. I hope I would have, but I really _didn't_ want to make things worse."

Sam crosses his arms in front of him, to hold your arms closer. "I know."

"You're hair is all braided. I guess the game is over." You start to pull back.

Sam looks around the room for another idea to keep the game going, keep you talking. He gets an idea inspired by your comment about the way Garth's willingness to make an idiot of himself helped you to open up. "We could paint each other's nails."

You freeze, bracing your hands on his shoulders and then look at him skeptically. "Seriously?"

"My feet only, and you help me get it off before they get back."

You can't help but smile. Sam's willing to go native girly-girl to get you to keep talking. He's _pulling a Garth_ . . . for you. "OK; you can pick your color. I have a nice dark, manly blue, minimal metallic sheen."

"Well, that's something." You point out where your nail polish is, and Sam pulls it out for you. "So if you're going to paint my nails, can I ask you a question that's not a follow-up?" Sam starts taking off his socks.

"Sure." You're surprised at how not suspicious you are about his question while you start buffing his man-toes, and stuffing cotton balls between them for separators.

"Do you ever think about that night?"

Your hands freeze for a moment. _Here we go; crap._ "Which one?"

Sam smiles cautiously, trying to keep things light again. "I meant Saint Patrick's Day. I'm not sure how much either of us remember from the other one."

You smile back, and then start filing his nails. "I remember everything about the second night I think, until we got back to the bunker. Then it gets spottier. But yeah, I think about _both_ nights."

"Do you regret . . . ?" Sam lets the question hang. He's not even sure what he wants to ask, exactly, or if he wants to know the answer, but it's in his heart anyway.

You're tempted to pass, but it feels too much like running. You promised you wouldn't run. So you settle for answering carefully. You get out the clear polish. "This is going to feel cool on your toes, don't jump."

"I won't jump."

You keep your eyes on his toenails while you paint. "I don't regret being with you or crossing lines with you if that's what you're asking. I make a point to never do anything drunk that I haven't OK-ed with myself sober first."

"I sense a 'but.'"

"You do. If I answer it, you don't get a follow up question, OK?"

"OK."

" _But_ , in hindsight, I wish we'd approached things differently. You were right that first night: we should have sobered up. I wish we'd been sober for the whole thing. I think that would have helped eliminate a lot of awkwardness afterwards. I also could have avoided the hangover after that second night."

Sam smiles back at you. "Yeah, me too. I think if I'm understanding you, I agree. I think it would have been better if we'd approached things sober from the start. I think things would have been clearer."

You start painting his other foot now, unable to look in his eyes. There's too much riding on what he's saying. "But?"

"But I don't regret the rest either."

You blush a little, feeling comforted and rub the bottom of Sam's foot affectionately in a way that won't tickle. "Mind if I switch up the tone of our confessions a little?"

"No."

You smirk at his toes, now gleaming with clear coat. "Those were two of the _hottest_ nights I've ever had."

Sam grins, nudging his foot against you to get you to look up at him. He wants to see that look of mischief in your eyes that he can hear in your voice, and he is not disappointed, "Same here."

"They were also the most fun . . . at least until the hangovers."

"Definitely."

"So, Sam . . . what's your favorite color?"

Sam laughs, catching that you're just quoting Peeta and Katniss now. "I do like the less sparkly version of that color you've pulled out for my toes."

"So do I." You start painting color onto his nails. "We're gonna be OK, Sam. But I can't do more questions right now, OK?"

"Yeah, OK. You want some food before we start the next movie?"

"Just like that you're letting the game go?"

"Yeah. I mean do I have more questions, yes, but I sense you've already told me more than you planned to, and I appreciate that."

You give the arch of his foot a little squeeze as you switch feet. "Thanks; food sounds great."

"What do you want?"

"Hamburger and mac 'n cheese?"

Sam nods. "You got it. Just to warn you, it probably won't be as good as Dean's."

You paint some quick-dry topcoat on Sam's toes. "I don't care. Dean's burgers are better than mine too. I just need iron."

"How long before I can move?"

You laugh and settle back to finish the movie, so Sam's nails can dry a little. "I'll let you know."

~

You and Sam watch _The Mockingjay: Part_ _1_ next. When the scene comes on where Katniss wakes up screaming and wishes Peeta was there, Sam feels you tense. He wraps his arms around you more closely and whispers in your ear. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. When you go to sleep tonight, if you want me to, I'll stay in here again. I'll stay with you here in the bunker while you sleep any night you want, just like when we're on the road."

You understand what he's not spelling out: even if it's just us having each other's backs as friends. "I can't ask that of you."

"You're not. _I'm offering._ You're not the only one who has nightmares or sleeps better when you don't sleep alone."

You nod against his shoulder, "I don't have nightmares when you're there. I slept better in the Impala with you and Dean on that hunt last week than I have in months."

Sam has a feeling now that him being in the Impala is the bigger factor than Dean, but he isn't certain. You do trust Dean too. He decides to put a little more out there to see what you do with it. "I sleep better with you beside me too."

Your next question comes out before you really consider it. "You do that often?"

"What?"

"Share a bed to keep the nightmares away: sadness shields."

"Sadness shields? I like that. No, I don't do that often and not for a long time. You?"

"Not for a long time anyway, but before that, maybe more often than I'd like to admit, even to myself. Some of the other sadness shields I used didn't work very well because . . . they didn't really matter, and I just couldn't ignore it and be honest with myself. So I stopped using sadness shields . . . until I came here, I guess, until now. Kevin and I don't sleep in the same bed unless we fall asleep watching a movie. Like I said, we're not like that." You mean to say 'we're not that sort of friends,' but most of those words are camouflage, and they stay inside this time.

"Again, not trying to press, but why?" _Why **now**? Why **me**? _ He can't ask those questions in full, but Sam wants to so badly.

You're not fully awake now; you're tired enough that you're saying things you might not otherwise. "You were _there_ in the dark when I was alone, and I was nothing to you . . . and again last night. I trust you. You matter."

Sam's breath catches. He heard it. You said it, whether you know it or not:

_'I trust you. You matter.'_

He swallows it for now. He can wait. He has so many reasons to wait now. "So do you."

~

You fall asleep for a while. When you wake up, you and Sam get ready for bed again. Sam’s about to climb in with another t-shirt and his track pants, and you’re bundled under the covers, miserable with your cramps. “Aren’t you hot in those pants?”

Sam freezes, midway through lifting the blanket. “What?”

“I mean not _hot_ , hot, but like sweating hot . . . I mean you’re _always_ the _other_ hot . . . obviously . . . never mind . . . blood loss . . . babbling.”

“Yeah, last night was kinda sweaty . . . I mean like a sweat lodge, not naked sweaty . . . just sweaty because of all the layers of clothes and blankets.”

“Sorry about the blankets. The weight of them helps me sleep better, like a fuzzy nest.”

“Hence the sleeping bag cocoon?”

“Yup, plus I know _my sleeping bag_ is clean when we’re in motels. It’s also normally chilly in here. You make it _not_ chilly."

"Got it.”

“So you want to clear off some blankets, or you want to shed a layer?”

Sam bit his lip, hedging. “Um . . . Whatever you're comfortable with doing. I’m fine either way.”

“Me too.”

Awkward silence.

You can feel him waiting you out and decide to take a small step. “Hey Sam, how about I wear my sleep shorts, and you wear yours? Because I’m roasting in these yoga pants, and if we’re still warm after we shed some layers, we can lose some blankets too.”

Sam grins, relieved. "That sounds like a plan. I'll go change and be right back. You need help with anything before I go?"

You shake your head. "I'll be OK, I think. Thanks."

When Sam comes back in yoga shorts and a fresh t-shirt, you're in sleep shorts and a tank top, already under the covers.

"I think I have a good movie idea: How about _Goonies_? I think I saw that earlier when I was looking through your collection."

You immediately start quoting Mikey. "It's their time, up there. Down here it's our time. It's our time down here."

"Goonies never say die!" Sam grins and puts the movie in the DVD player. "I thought after last night, maybe we'd sleep better if we watched something more cheerful than _The Hunger Games_ before bed."

"Solid call."

~

As you watch Chunk do the Truffle Shuffle, you cringe, not at Chunk -he’s adorable- but it makes you think back to your moment of PMS-y self-reflection in the bathroom yesterday. “Ugh, that’s _exactly_ how I feel . . . ugh. All flubbery and squishy . . .” You cover your mouth in horror realizing you said that out loud. It’s something you would have said to Charlie or Kevin, because they don’t care. They’re your friends. It’s something you would _never_ say to a guy you wanted to want to see you naked when you aren’t retaining water like a hippopotamus.

Sam looks over at you, sympathetically. “Aww. Hey, none of that. You look beautiful.”

You roll your eyes. “ _Please_ , I feel like a manatee.”

“Manatees are adorable. People pay good money to have their pictures taken with manatees.”

“As opposed to bad money? I am retaining so much water I am basically a water snake toy.”

Sam snorts laughter. _That can’t possibly as dirty as it sounds._ “A _what_?"

"It’s a rubber-plastic toy thingy filled with water, and it folds in on itself. When you get it wet, it’s slippery. . . you know what? This sounds terrible. I’ll show you.” You bring up a picture on your phone.

Sam snorts in laughter. “Yeah, that didn’t help. It that looks like a redneck fleshlight.”

“A what?”

Sam’s face goes red, while you start looking it up on your phone.

When you see pictures, you close your eyes and your phone in mortification. “I take it back. I feel _nothing_ like that. I am not a sex toy. I’m just a cute, squishy manatee. Oh my god, I can't _unsee_ that . . . Sam . . . I need a different visual." You hand Sam your phone. "Please find something else for me to fill my head with . . . I cannot have the image of that portable vagina in my head for the rest of the night. Uh, in my head it keeps turning into a flashlight and light comes out of it, but it's a vagina . . . what if my vagina lit up? Would the belly button turn it on and off or something closer to the light source . . . ? It's all very wrong in my head. Oh and imagine changing the batteries . . .”

_Oh I am **now.** _ Sam sort of thinks your freak out is equal parts cute and hilarious and starting to turn disturbingly arousing. He could kiss you as a distraction, but he's trying to keep things more low key. _I know what Dean would do in this situation, and it would involve jeans around his ankles, but I’m not Dean, and this isn't **What Would Dean Do** , this is **What Would Kevin or Charlie Do** and Kevin wouldn't do **that** and neither would Charlie . . . as far as I know. _ Sam settles for a different distraction. He pauses the movie and hands you back your phone. "So this one time-"

"At band camp?"

" _No_. I’m trying to distract you; please shut up."

"Sorry."

"So get this: Dean and I are in this town where people wishes are getting granted, but in really dangerous ways. We're tracking something people say looks like bigfoot that stole some porn and booze. Turns out, this little girl wished her teddy bear was a real, walking, talking friend for tea time, but she got a giant, animate, stuffed bear who also happened to be a depressed, alcoholic porn addict with an existential crisis."

You're laughing so hard you snort. "Please tell me you didn't gank the bear."

"No, the bear tried to blow its head off, but since its head was full of cotton, it didn't die."

"She's _really lucky_ her wish didn't go another way . . . or she could have ended up with a ‘real bear.’"

"Yeah, pretty much."

You and Sam go back to watching the movie, but curiosity gets the better of you. As soon as Sam goes to the bathroom, you turn your cell phone back on and start exploring the website further.

When Sam comes back and settles back into his spot, he catches a glimpse of what you're looking at on your phone. Sam shakes his head with a huge grin on his face. "I distracted you the first time. Now, you’re on your own.”

You give Sam your best puppy eyes. “But you’re taking care of me.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “And you talk about _my_ puppy eyes . . . You’re like a baby seal.”

“If anything I am Toothless the Dragon.”

"You'll have to show me who that is tomorrow." Sam wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Just watch _the movie,_ little dragon _._ "

You snuggle into his chest and watch the movie for a little while before your phone sucks you back in.

Sam sighs heavily, pretending to be greatly put-upon. “Does Kevin ever take away your phone? Because that may become another thing ‘only we do’ in about a minute.”

You look up at Sam in mock horror. “Never! Bad padawan.”

Sam chuckles. “Fine, but you’re going to see something else that’s gonna freak you out any minute. I’m just trying to save you from yourself.”

"Yeah, yeah." Ten or so minutes pass. "Hey, Sam?”

 _I’m so afraid to ask._ “Yeah?”

“How do you even know about . . . fleshlights?" You're blushing furiously, but curiosity has really got its teeth in you and as a side effect of Shark week, you are horny out of your mind. The idea of Sam using a fleshlight is starting to sound disturbingly hot . . . "Do you _have_ one?"

Sam raises an eyebrow at you. _Are we **seriously** having this conversation? _ "Dean gave me one as a gag gift for Christmas one year. He said it was, ah, a stocking stuffer. . . since I wasn't 'stuffing any other stockings at the time,' direct quote."

"Ouch." You grimace.

"Yeah." Sam, resettles himself on the bed.

“Meh, don’t let it get to you. It’s been awhile for me too.” The mood takes a slightly depressing and uncomfortable turn. Trying to shake it off; you voice another question, more personal than the last, but also more likely to get a laugh out of Sam. "So are they like vibrators? Do they come in small, medium, and large?”

“It’s more ‘one size fits most.’”

“Huh. Do they even make those in _your_ size?"

You deadpan the question, and Sam just grins and snickers, blushing. "Special order."

You roll your eyes, sensing you're being teased. "I'll bet." Your eyes go back to the website. You feel a little bad singling Sam out, not wanting to embarrass him, but then you see something that would even the playing field. "Huh, they have toys for women. How would that even work? _Oh_. Hmm. Well that would be more comfortable."

Sam shakes his head. _This conversation is straying into dangerous territory. Oh well. She started it._ "What do you mean?"

"Well, lots of toys are kind of _hard_. I mean you'd think that would be ideal, but it's like goldicocks- there _is_ such a thing as _too hard_."

Sam smirks down at you. "What about _too big_?"

You get so flustered, you start answering the question seriously. "Well with enough stretching and teasing . . . that sorts things out to a certain extent . . . more than you'd think . . . Actually, now that I think about it, you would probably be _really_ familiar with that phenomenon. Wow, there are kits for stretching things out . . . Right, so anyway, what's interesting is that they not only have some more lifelike options, but they also have some that have a ‘smart memory’ feature . . ."

"So I take it you don't have one of those yet?"

"‘ _Yet’_ has just become the operative word,” You giggle, scrolling. “And Dean thinks a _mattress_ that remembers you is cool. I mostly stick to simple stuff. Although, I could use something waterproof so I can take it hunting. I mean the shower is the only place any of us get any privacy on a hunt."

_My sascock certainly remembers you._

Sam has this look on his face, and you _know_ you're definitely in dangerous waters. "Sorry. This is a conversation I would normally have with Kevin or Charlie without thinking twice about it, and it's not that I'm uncomfortable now, but I am suddenly very aware that the difference is that I've never gotten . . .  naked with either of them. So this conversation feels . . . different."

Sam shifts his hips on your bed, purposely rumpling the blankets further. "Bad different?"

"No. Not bad . . . just complicated."

Neither of you say much on that, but Sam takes your hand away from the phone and holds it, threading your fingers together. "So back to the movie?"

"Back to the movie."

~

As the credits for Goonies stream, you feel your eyelids getting heavier than the gold on One-Eyed Willy's Ship. "Night Sam; thank you.”

“For what?”

You snuggle closer to him, and Sam wraps an arm around you. “For staying."

"Anytime."

 _♪All Fall Down_ by OneRepublic _♪_

_♪Step out the door and it feels like rain; that's the sound (that's the sound) on your window pane. Take to the streets but you can't ignore; that's the sound (that's the sound) you're waiting for. If ever your world starts crashing down, whenever your world starts crashing down, whenever your world starts crashing down, that's where you'll find me. Yeah, God love your soul and your aching bones. Take a breath, take a step, meet me down below. Everyone's the same, our fingers to our toes. We just can't get it right, but we're on the road. If ever your world starts crashing down, whenever your world starts crashing down, whenever your world starts crashing down, that's where you'll find me. (Yeah) Lost till you're found; Swim till you drown. Know that we all fall down. Love till you hate. Strong till you break. Know that we all fall down. If ever your world starts crashing down, whenever your world starts crashing down, if ever your world starts crashing down that's when you'll find (find) me. Lost till you're found. Swim till you drown. Know that we all fall down. Love till you hate. Strong till you break. Know that we all fall down. All fall down, we all fall down, all fall down. We all fall down, all fall down, all fall down. Lost till you're found. Swim till you drown. Know that we all fall down. Love till you hate. Strong till you break. Know that we all fall down♪_

~

Sam wakes up wondering what caught his attention, when he hears you making frantic whimpering noises again, and feels you making urgent movements beside him. Thinking you're having another nightmare, Sam pulls you closer to hold you through it, but instead of just holding onto him, you roll yourself too so you are now curled around his leg, half straddling him. It is _extremely_ clear to Sam in seconds that you are _not_ having a nightmare as your hips undulate against his thigh, and you rub yourself against his hip. With some of his extra layers shed, Sam can _feel_ your damp heat through the meager remaining layers pressing closer and closer to his hip bone. Your face presses closer to his chest, nuzzling, and then you start to drag your teeth over his shirt-clad chest, nibbling away hungrily.

Sam isn't sure what to do. He's holding you against himself. It was supposed to be comforting and clearly _it is_ , but not as he intended. Your hands are lightly clawing at him, your entire body, seems to be trying to pull him closer and closer until your body merges with his. If he wakes you up, you're going to feel horribly embarrassed and any progress he's made will be obliterated. He has to just let you ride it out. Then Sam hears you start to murmur in your sleep. _I swear if she says Dean just once I am going to . . ._

"Sam . . . _Please_."

He froze. That was _not_ his brother's name. If his cock was interested _before_ when they were talking about sex toys and making flattering jokes about his penis that was _nothing_ compared to now. He could feel it jump in his boxers to the sound of your voice panting his name in breathy, needy whispers while you ride his leg, your thigh pressing and stroking against his fabric-covered cock.

"Sam _please_ . . . don't stop . . . I need you . . . _please Sam_ , oh please. More."

Sam's emotions race through the gambit. You’re dreaming about him. Maybe it _was_ because he was there and the because you could smell him and all that rationalizing crap he'd told himself before, but right now all he could think was: _Dean was right. She's been dreaming about me. She's been having sex dreams about **me**._ It was one thing for you to say you still had a . . . complicated interest in him, but another to have tangible proof.

He held you, stroking your hair, rubbing your back, until your entire body clenched and moaned against him. Sam continues to hold you after you finished against him, until you roll onto your back beside him of your own accord, making contented noises in your sleep. Then he carefully slides out to the bathroom to relieve some more tension, _extremely_ proud of himself for holding together until he got to the bathroom.

_Maybe **it is just** because she's attracted to me and we have great chemistry and I'm her friend . . . her **complicated** friend. Isn't that what she said? . . . She also said she had some past crap that was messing with her head . . . Fuck it. She **wants me.** She **clearly** wants me, and I'm **done** rationalizing it away. Maybe she's scared or unsure about our friendship or whatever, but I'm **done** messing around. As soon as she's back to normal, I'm going to ask her out on a real date and have this out one way or another. I've waited long enough. We're friends again and **clearly** on some level she wants more too. I'll just have to convince her it's going to be OK. _

~

Meanwhile, Dean and Kevin are starting back, currently discussing the misery puddle that you and Sam have been on average for the last six months while finishing their coffee at a diner, waiting for the waitress to bring them their change.

Castiel looks between Kevin and Dean. "I do not understand. Sam and ____ _clearly_ have feelings for each other. Why are they miserable?"

"Sometimes people have feelings and they just aren't sure that doing anything about them is a good idea." Kevin offers.

Castiel nods solemnly, trying not to lock eyes with Dean. "Yes, I understand this phenomenon, but in this case, _they_ **_both_** _want to be **together**_ **.** I do not understand this at all."

Dean and Kevin just stare at Castiel in disbelief.

Kevin snaps out of it first. "Cas ... have you been skimming people's minds without their permission again?"

"Yes. I could not help it. Sam and _______ are my friends. I just want them to be happy."

Dean's voice, when he speaks, is slow and deliberate. "Say that again and elaborate."

"Sam and _____ feel the same way about each other. They want to be together, and they are miserable because they are not. What is the obstacle between them?"

"Apparently a lot of bullshit." Dean grumbles. "Kevin, Cas, we need to 'Parent Trap' those two stat."

Kevin nods. "Agreed. What do you have in mind?"

Castiel continues to stand in the middle of the diner as Dean and Kevin start to clear out.

Dean calls out over his shoulder. "Come on Cas. Shake the lead out of those tail feathers! Let's get a move on."

"Dean, I do not have tail feathers. I am an Angel of the Lord, not a bird." Castiel grumbles.

Dean sighs, hiding a smile. "It's an expression, Cas. Just get in the damn car." They all start to climb in while Dean turns the keys and fiddles with teh radio.

"Cars don't have souls, Dean. The Impala cannot be damned."

Kevin starts laughing so hard he can barely breathe, and Dean looks like he isn't sure whether to bang his head into the steering wheel or crack a smile.

~

The next morning your cramps are worse. Sam has to help you around more, and you let him. You and Sam spend the next two days just reading, talking about lighter things, watching more TV and movie favorites including _How to Train Your Dragon_ , and eating more comfort food and spending the nights with Sam curled at your side. Even when you feel awful, Sam takes care of you just the way you need him to. By unspoken agreement, neither of you bring up any more of your inner demons while you're bleeding. You sleep a lot beside Sam, enjoying the absence of nightmares. While you do, Sam reads or starts to mull over possibilities for asking you out to dinner: the how, the where. The only question he doesn't ask anymore is _when._

As soon as you're out of Shark Week; that's when.


	19. Shillelagh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finally makes his move with a little wingman assist from Dean and Kevin and everything gets talked through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N The next chapter will be up in one week. I think that after the Season Finale, we’ll need some comfort. I love you guys. Thanks for all the comments!!!! This is my first posted lengthy work that I've finished and all the amazing readers are a big part of why.

When Kevin, Dean, and Castiel come back to the bunker, Kevin lets them unload the car while he goes to check on you. When he reaches your room, he opens the door and looks in. You and Sam are sitting side by side on your bed,  _both_  of your heads covered in braids, some of them pulled back into clips that gave you both spiky pigtails on top of your heads like floppy dog ears. Kevin can see that  _both_  of you have painted toenails peeking out from under the blanket you’re sharing while you watch  _Despicable Me_. You and Sam look at Kevin and do your best impersonation of minions: “Oooooooh.” Kevin takes one last look at both of you, backs slowly out of the room, and closes the door.

Kevin laughs to himself in the hallway. “Well, I guess that worked out OK then.”

When Kevin sees Sam again, his hair is back to normal and his shoes are on. He has enough brains not to ask Sam about the nail polish … or the hair that still has a little crimping from the braids.

* * *

  
♪ _Black & White People_ by Matchbox 20♪

_♪One more day down -everybody has those days- where one soft sweet song’s just enough to clear my head. Fall on real life -is anybody left there sane? If we slide on over and accept fate, then it’s bound to be a powerful thing. If it’s just that you’re weak, can we talk about it? It’s gettin’ so damn creepy just nursing this ghost of chance: the fiction, the romance, and the Technicolor dreams of black and white people♪_

_♪One boy head strong thinks that living here’s just plain. He’s pushed down so hard you can hear him start to sink. And it’s one last round of petty conversation. You hold on boy ‘cuz you won’t go down like this? Just on roll over, lay down till it’s more than you can take. If it’s just that you’re weak, can we talk about it? It’s gettin’ so damn creepy just nursing this ghost of chance: the fiction, the romance, and the Technicolor dreams of black and white people♪_

_♪So one more day down and everybody’s changin’. One soft sweet sound is just enough to clear my head. If it’s just that you’re weak, can we talk about it? It’s gettin’ so damn creepy just nursing this ghost of chance: the fiction, the romance, and the Technicolor dreams of black and white people. We are black and white people♪_

The day after Kevin, Castiel, and Dean come back, you wake up feeling  _great_. Shark Week is over, and four days of Sam’s attentive care has left you feeling more relaxed and refreshed than you can remember feeling ever before. If any part of you was uncertain about how you felt about Sam before this, four days of him taking care of you had made this much a certainty: you wanted a repeat of those four days next month. You roll over to see if Sam’s awake yet, and there’s a note on the pillow beside you to let you know he went for a run. You smile and get out of bed, pull on some clothes and head out.

You find Kevin and head to the kitchen to make breakfast. Dean’s already working on coffee. While you’re cooking, Kevin invites you to dinner with him and Talia.

“Her brother’s coming tonight too, and I wanted to bring someone from my family.”

“Awwww, thank you, little brother.” You take a break from scrambling eggs to give Kevin a big hug. “And it’s  _long_  past time I met her. OK, I’m in.” _I guess I can’t spend every night from here on out with Sam. I wonder if I can get him to see a movie with me after I come back from dinner … and maybe have him stay the night again._ “Where’s dinner?”

“There’s this Italian place in Topeka: Luciani’s. We’re getting drinks there at six.”

“OK. It’s like  _eleven_  now. That gives me time to eat breakfast, get a shower, maybe do some laundry, whatever. When do we leave?”

“We’ll leave at five.”

 _Well the sooner we leave, the sooner I get back._ “OK; Fair enough.”

Sam comes back from his run and hears you all in the kitchen and heads in, just in time for you to put food in front of him and hand him a mug of coffee.

“Hey. How was your run?”

Sam pushes his hair back, tucking it behind his ears and gives you a smile that makes you feel like he’s solar-powered from his run. “Great. You seem like you’re feeling better today.”

You slide into the seat next to Sam and nudge him playfully. “Yeah … Actually, I was feeling better yesterday, but I was enjoying the pampering.”

Sam shakes his head and starts to eat. “Well then I guess you’re gonna have to pamper me next time I’m bleeding.”

“Fair enough, but don’t rush it. If you get real desperate, how about you just pretend to be sick or something? I don’t want you getting hurt just so I’ll spoil you.”

Sam smiles. “Deal. What are you up to, today?”

“I need to air out my room, do some laundry, freshen things up, you know. Then going out for dinner with Kevin to meet Talia.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“If I get back early enough from dinner, you want to watch a movie?”

“Sure. Come find me when you get back?”

“OK.”

You and Sam share little smiles.

* * *

After you finish breakfast, you get the laundry going. You’re a little reluctant to wash Sam’s scent out of them.  _No it’s OK. Sam’s gonna watch another movie with you soon enough. And he promised he’d stay with you whenever you want. There’s more Sam scent to come._

* * *

 _♪Somewhere With You_  by Tyler Ward♪

_♪If you’re going out with someone new, I’m going out with someone too. I won’t feel sorry for me, I’ll finish this drink, but I’d much rather be somewhere with you: laughing loud on a carnival ride, yeah, driving around on a Saturday night. You made fun of me for singing my song; got a hotel room just to turn you on. You said pick me up at three a.m. You’re fighting with your mom again and I’d go, I’d go, I’d go somewhere with you, somewhere with you♪_

_♪I won’t sit outside your house, and wait for the lights to go out. Call up an ex to rescue me, climb in their bed, when I’d much rather sleep somewhere with you. Like we did on the beach last summer, when the rain came down and we took cover down in your car, out by the pier, you laid me down, whispered in my ear, 'I hate my life, hold on to me, And if you ever decide to leave, Then I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go.’ I can go out every night of the week, can go home with anybody I meet, but it’s just a temporary high 'cause when I close my eyes, I’m somewhere with you, somewhere with you♪_

_♪If you see me out on the town, and it looks like I’m burning it down, you won’t ask and I won’t say, but in my heart I’m always somewhere with you: laughing loud on a carnival ride, yeah; driving around on a Saturday night. You made fun of me for singing my song; got a hotel room just to turn you on. You said pick me up at three a.m. You’re fighting with your mom again and I’d go, I’d go, I’d go, I can go out every night of the week, but it’s just a temporary high 'cause when I close my eyes, I’m with you♪_

You shower and get dressed up for dinner: the burgundy dress that you wear a lot on hunts seems like a good choice. It’s nice and flattering, but still professional and tasteful. You keep the makeup and jewelry simple, but elegant.  _I want to make a nice impression, but this isn’t a date. I’m not wearing the high shine lip gloss. Dean will just make comments, and they’ll just upset Sam._   _I just need to meet these people, scope them out, help Kevin make a good impression, and hopefully get home early for that movie with Sam. Would it be too obvious if I put it on when I get home? Maybe. Do I care? Not so much._

* * *

Sam heads into the library, looking for something to do until you get back from dinner. On the way, he catches sight of you when you head out with Kevin, and it strikes a nerve.  _That’s **the dress**  … the dress I wanted her to wear on  **our**  date … that I haven’t had a chance to ask her on out on yet …_

_ _

Dean walks in the room an hour later while Sam is absently shelving books. “Why the 'sad panda’ face, Sam?”

Sam doesn’t even look up. “Nothing.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Let’s try this again: where’s ______?”

“Out to dinner with Kevin.”

“Oh right, the big dinner with the girlfriend and her brother. Please tell me you’re not worried about that.”

Sam immediately gives Dean his full attention. “What? What brother?”

Dean sighs.  _Here we go._ “Talia’s bringing her brother to dinner, Kevin wanted to bring ____ as his sister, for all intents and purposes. It’s no big deal, which is why I’m sure she forgot to mention it. It’s  _nothing_   _to worry about._ ”

Sam nods absently his attention turning inward again, while he tries to muffle the enormous sigh by shelving another volume. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. It’s not like it’s a date.”  _Enough. Just enough. She’s coming back in a few hours, and then she and I are going to talk this out. I can’t go another day without telling her, without knowing one way or the other. This is beyond ridiculous._

_ _

Dean chuckles at Sam’s reaction. “ _Come on_ , Sammy. She’s  _clearly_  got someone else in mind these days. That guy wouldn’t have a chance if he wanted one.”

Sam shakes his head again, to clear it. “What are you talking about?”

“You, you stupid Sasquatch, she’s  _not_  on a date.”

Sam nods his head again, something more solidifying behind his eyes. “Where are they having dinner?”

“Some place called Luciani’s in Topeka.”

Sam starts moving, his mind running through ideas.

Dean, seeing Sam spring into action, nods his head as he starts getting on board with the plan. “You get dressed; I’ll get you directions.”

Sam stops, startled. “What?”

“You’re going after her right? Hijacking the not-date?”

Sam grins. “I hadn’t really thought that far. I was just going to make our movie night later a date.”

Suddenly, Dean has a horrible vision of you meeting some random guy at the restaurant, cancelling on Sam to hook up with said guy, and then the angst cycle restarting all over again. “No! No more. No waiting. No leaving things to chance. This is fucking happening. Tonight. Make the big gesture. Shake those giraffe legs and put on a suit and take her out to dinner. You took a shower already today. If you leave here in twenty, they’ll still be on breadsticks.”

Sam gives Dean a parting grin and heads back to his room like it’s on fire, while Dean just smiles to himself.  _That’s the happiest I’ve seen him in … since I came back from purgatory. Damn. Go get her, Sammy._  As an afterthought, Dean texts Kevin:

DeanW: u have a Sasquatch coming yr way

KevinT: u can’t be serious. wtf is bigfoot doing in KS?

DeanW: not a REAL bigfoot short round. Sam is making his damn move. B ready 2 wingman the shit out of it.

KevinT: FINALLY. U got it

Fifteen minutes later, Sam pulls away from the bunker and heads off to Topeka. Thirty minutes later, he’s navigating the city with Dean’s directions beside him and Triumph’s  _Lay it on the Line_  blasting from the radio.

 _♪Lay it on the Line_  by Triumph _♪_

 _♪_ _It’s the same old story all over again: You turn a lover into just another friend. I want to love you; I want to make you mine. Won’t you lay it on the line? I’m tired of playing all your foolish games. I’m tired of all of your lies making me insane. I don’t ask for much, the truth’ll do just fine. Won’t you lay it on the line? Lay it on the line. Lay it on the line. Lay it on the line. Don’t waste my time_ _♪_

 _♪_ _You got no right to make me wait. We better talk, girl, before it gets too late. I never thought you could be so unkind. Won’t you lay it on the line? Lay it on the line. Lay it on the line. Lay it on the line. Don’t waste my time_ _♪_

 _♪_ _You know I love you, you know it’s true. It’s up to you, girl, what’ve I got to do. Don’t hold me up, girl, don’t waste my precious time. Won’t you lay it on the line? Lay it on the line. Lay it on the line._ _♪_

When Sam parks the car, he doesn’t really have a clear plan. He tried to find the words on the drive at first, but it was too distracting. Now, he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve if he over-thinks the right words. He catches sight of his reflection in the rearview as he fixes his hair a little.  _You can do this, Sam. Just go in there and tell her, you can’t wait any more._

Sam steps out of the car, wondering if he should have flowers.  _No, I’m fine. I’ll get flowers next time._

* * *

 _♪Ho Hey_  by The Lumineers _♪_

_♪(Ho!) I’ve been trying to do it right. (Hey!) I’ve been living a lonely life. (Ho!) I’ve been sleeping here instead. (Hey!) I’ve been sleeping in my bed, (Ho!) Sleeping in my bed. (Hey!) (Ho!) (Ho!) So show me family, (Hey!) All the blood that I would bleed. (Ho!) I don’t know where I belong. (Hey!) I don’t know where I went wrong, (Ho!) But I can write a song. (Hey!) I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweetheart. I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweet. (Ho!) (Hey!) ♪_

While Sam is working up his nerve, you’re sitting across from Talia, talking about the only safe things you can think of at the moment: her and Kevin and _Big Bang Theory_. She’s really delightful. Her brother is probably fine too, but at the moment, he’s too busy talking to Kevin with his boyfriend to be a part of your conversation. While you’re grateful Talia is so interesting, you can’t help but think how much more fun you’d be having sitting at home curled up with Sam.  _Maybe tonight I can just sit Sam down and see how he feels about trying a real date. This place is pretty nice; maybe I could come back with Sam …he could wear that blue suit I love with the red tie that matches this dress … We looked so damn cute on that case …Agents Carter and Rogers …_

You’re trying to listen to Talia, but instead you’re daydreaming about Sam walking into the restaurant. You must be visualizing well, because at one point he looks really solid, standing there, looking around the room in the blue suit with the burgundy tie and everything. Then you noticed people around imaginary Sam reacting to him.  _Holy shit. Wishing works. That’s for-real Sam._

_♪(Ho!) (Hey!) (Ho!) I don’t think you’re right for him. (Hey!) Look at what it might have been if you (Ho!) took a bus to China Town. (Hey!) I’d be standing on Canal (Ho!) and Bowery. (Hey!) (Ho!) And she’d be standing next to me. (Hey!) I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweetheart. I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweetheart. Love – we need it now; Let’s hope for some, So, we’re bleeding out. I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweetheart. I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweet. (Ho!) (Hey!) (Ho!) (The last one) (Hey!) ♪_

The moment Sam sees you staring, he smiles nervously, then runs a hand through his hair and straightens his suit.

You’re still staring when themaître d’walks him over to you.  _You should snap out of it. This is probably **not**   **actually**  a fantasy come to life. Sam’s probably here because something urgent came up, like a ghost or a vampire. _“Sam. What are you doing here? Something work-related come up that you need my help sorting out?”  _Anything **else**  come up that you need me to take care of with you?_

“Um, no; I’m not here about work.” Sam takes in the table where Talia and Kevin are holding hands … as are the  _two_  guys beside them. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.” You barely look at Kevin or the rest of them. “Kev, Talia, Dave, Matt, I might be right back. If not, it was lovely meeting all of you. Kevin will explain.” You gather your coat, purse, and scarf, and follow Sam back to the restaurant entrance.

Sam looks you over in your dress and cute shoes, hair done, and make up on. “You look beautiful.”

You look Sam over in his blue suit and white dress shirt with the burgundy tie. “Thanks. You look perfect.”

“You’re not on a date.”

If you had been drinking, he’d be wearing it. “A date? Of course not. Why in the  _world_  would you think I’m on a date?”

“I didn’t really think you were on a date; Dean said you were just out with Kevin and Talia … and her brother.”

Your smile at Sam reassuringly. “He’s got a boyfriend.“

Sam smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, I noticed. I guess started worrying because … what if it was a date? The other night, you kept saying you weren’t sure what you wanted or if we were on the same page. I got to thinking, what if you made a choice without knowing where we stood.”

You take his hand. “Sam … you have to know … after our talks … I would _never_  … not without talking with you first … not without knowing.”

Sam squeezes your hand. “Good; I don’t want you to date anyone else. Dean also mentioned you might  _want_  to be on a date … with  _me_ and that’s what I want too. I’m here because I  _want_  to take you to dinner, and I can’t wait another night for that.”

“And that would be like a dinner date?”

“No, not  _like a date_  … A date: you and me, right now.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So does this mean you want to be more than complicated friends?”

“Much more.”

“Let’s get a table.”

Kevin comes up to both of you while Talia speaks with the maître d’, who nods then she comes over to the two of you. “Hey there. So see that table over there in the corner? That’s yours. Kevin says you two have a lot to talk about and since you look like you’re planning to stay, I thought a table would be good for that. I know the manager here.”

Kevin gives her a quick kiss. “Thank you, baby. I’ll be with you in just a minute.” He waits until she’s out of earshot before turning back to you and Sam. “I’ve been hoping something would lead you both to some healthy confrontation  _before_  this, say about eight months ago, but no, you both just got so sad about the whole thing that you didn’t even bother confirming where you stood with each other, which would have cleared things up. So now, you two sit down, have some dinner and  _talk it out_. Here’s a conversation starter for you: _____, Sam likes you; Sam, ____ likes you back. You  _both_  want to  _do something_   _about it_. Discuss.”

Kevin walks back to his table while you and Sam just stare at each other, flabbergasted.

Sam breaks the silence first. “Is that true?”

You take a step closer to him, you can feel something building inside you like relief, gratitude, warmth, need. “Yeah, it is. Look, I know we need to talk about this, but can we put that on pause for a minute?”

“ _Again?_  Why?”

“Because … this.” You lock onto Sam’s eyes and cup his jaw, pulling him down to you as well as you can considering he’s a giant. “After everything, I need this, and I can’t wait through any more talking for it.”

 _♪One Line_ by PJ Harvey _♪_

 _♪_   _Do you remember the first kiss? Stars shooting across the sky. To come to such a place as this; you never left my mind. I’m watching from the wall as in the streets we fight, this world all gone to war. All I need is you tonight. And I draw a line to your heart today. 'To your heart from mine, a line to keep us safe.’ All through the rising sun, all through the circling years, you were the only one who could have brought me here. And I draw a line to your heart today, 'To your heart from mine, a line to keep us safe'♪_

Sam catches on the moment he sees that look in your eyes, feels the pressure from your hand start against his jaw, and swoops down, the exasperation that started to build at the idea of  _another_  delay transmuting into something entirely. At the last second, he cups your face, forcing himself to slow down, to remember that in spite of everything, he’s never so much as  _kissed_  you _sober_. Sam’s never  _known_  you want him the way he wants you before, so this kiss  _really_  counts, and it needs to be more than heat and need.

You feel Sam’s hand on your face, steadying you, his other hand, curling tenderly into your hair. He takes a moment just before the kiss to lock eyes with yours and let your breaths combine, so you can see he’s right  _there_  with you in every way.

When Sam kisses you, it fills your entire awareness, the way you can feel him strong and steady under your hands, one at his face and one clutching his jacket. Everything else goes soft, dim, and quiet. All there is the warm, soft, pressure of Sam’s mouth, the way his lips slide against yours, the light tickle of your tongues. The scent of his skin fills your lungs, and you happily drown.

Sam is drowning right along with you, relief rolling through him even as something else starts building. He feels something different from you now. Before, when he kissed you, you were wild, alive, wanton, but now, you’re unrestrained. Your guard is down and there’s something in this kiss he’s never felt from you before: vulnerability. He starts to lighten the kiss before you realize it too and pulls you close for a hug.

Only when your faces separate and you’re pressed close to his left breast pocket does the moment shift. The room gets brighter, the sounds filter back in, and you can hear clapping and cheers that you know are loudest at the table Kevin and Talia occupy.

Sam takes your hand, smiles and waves a hand of embarrassed thanks at the room, then leads you to the table Talia pointed out. You don’t really notice much else, enjoying the feel of his hand wrapped around yours. He pulls out a chair for you, and you take the seat across from him, grateful that neither of you has to sit with your back to the room so you can relax further. Neither of you will ever  _not_  be a hunter.

 _♪Walkaway_ from  _Meet Joe Black_  by Thomas Newman _♪_

_ _

The waiter brings wine over before you and Sam even manage to crack a menu. “The bottle is complements of Mr. Tran; he has also taken the liberty of ordering for you both because quote, 'nothing is to disturb you two from talking this through.’”

You and Sam laugh and accept the wine graciously. You raise your glass in a toast. “To clearing the air.”

Sam mirrors your gesture, “Agreed.”

After a few sips, you both stare at each other again, grinning like idiots. You start,“So I feel sort of … I don’t know where to start. I might be in shock.”

“Yeah me too. I have to say after everything … I’m sort of surprised by your reaction.”

“Because I kissed you?”

“Yeah, I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did, but I’m surprised. You’ve been really … reserved about all this in a lot of ways.”

You take a gulp of wine. “I know. I was scared before, like terrified, scared.”

“You said. What changed?” Sam takes a sip of his glass.

You jerked a thumb in Kevin’s direction. “Kevin said you felt the same way.”

Sam nearly snorts his wine. “That’s it?”

“He knows how I feel about you better than just about anyone −except maybe Cas. He would  _never_  say that to me if he thought for even a millisecond that it wasn’t true.”

Sam laughs a little. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just thinking that if I’d told you how I felt sooner … we could have avoided  _all_  of this.”

You blush, feeling embarrassed. “I don’t think I’ve been a big help there. Anytime I sensed you were about to tell me where things stood, I’ve been so afraid you’d tell me you didn’t feel 'that way’ about me that I sort of found a way to stop it from happening. I wish I could say I’d been about to tell you myself, but I wasn’t quite ready. I  _was_  working up to it though. After what you said, when you promised me you wouldn’t run, no matter where things stood, it made me want to try to tell you.”

Sam sees you looking self-conscious and tries to catch your eyes again. “Good. I was going to tell you later tonight anyway when you came back to the bunker to watch a movie with me, but like I said, I guess I just couldn’t wait anymore.”

You look at him again, smiling. “I’m glad you couldn’t wait and that Kevin decided to step in. I  _missed_  being able to go to you when things weren’t OK. Since we started being friends, I’ve never had anything I couldn’t go to you about before, and it was  _horrible_  having this  _one thing_  I couldn’t say.”

You’re still not saying it, and Sam hasn’t missed that you’re currently talking _around_  it, but he can wait a little longer for that step. “Me too, but we can talk about all that now. So now that I know and you know, can you tell me _why_  you were so afraid?” Sam reaches his hand across the table, and you take it.

While the waiter brings you both salad, you take a minute to gather yourself. “Yeah, I can do that, or I can try. Let me start with trying to explain a little better what was going on with me when I disappeared. I’m not sure I can explain  _all of it_  to you. I mean, when it’s bad, it’s like … this panic attack. It catches me off guard because most of the time I feel  _fine_. I feel normal and sane. Then something happens, and all I can do is  _feel_. I can’t think; I don’t even know how to react. It’s paralyzing. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. All I want to do is run and all I can do to stop myself is hide. When it hits, mostly I can’t find the words to explain it because  _I_  can’t even tell  _why_  I feel how I feel. All  _I know_  is the emotions that are water boarding me … And with you it was harder.”

Sam leans closer and starts rubbing circles into your palm with his thumb. “Why?”

“Because you became  _so_  important to me … and because I don’t want to scare you away.”

Sam can see how hard this is for you to say and knowing what Castiel said to him, he  _wants_  to say what he knows you need to hear, but Sam promised Castiel he would keep their conversation secret. “You won’t.”

You search his eyes, but they just hold steady on yours, so you squeeze his hand and go on. “OK … so when I feel something important, sometimes that feeling -good or bad- feels enormous, like it barely fits inside me. It seems to overwhelm people sometimes. I guess that can be great when I’m happy and the people around me are happy, but when I’m sad or scared or angry, it’s not so good. When I care about someone it’s almost impossible for me to stop and when I grieve … it takes a long time for me to get past it.”

 _Well that all sounds familiar._ He thinks about telling you that, but he doesn’t want to interrupt now that you’re talking, so he pushes the thought aside. Sam just rubs his thumb over your hand soothingly while you talk. You tell him about the friends you’ve lost, male and female and why, pretty much telling him the same things you told Kevin before the kamara hunt, building on what you told him during Shark Week. “I didn’t know how you felt, but I’ve done the friends-to-more-than-friends thing pretty much every way you can, and I’ve lost them all pretty much every way you can too, no matter what I did or didn’t do. That sort of helplessness was awful,  _is awful_. I just don’t want that to happen to us.”

Sam smiles a little. He can’t help it. Whenever you say 'us,’ it sounds like progress, and hearing your fears about losing him is reassuring too. “Neither do I. Look, I  _want_  to date you. Man, that sounds weird -not dating  _you_ specifically- just that phrase sounds weird. Anyway, if you don’t want to date me or for some reason things don’t work out then at the very least I don’t want to lose your friendship. I don’t want to scare you off either, but I  _do_ have feelings for you, and I’d like to see where this goes because I think it could be amazing.”

You nod your head, not really trusting your voice. This turn of events is dizzying.

The waiter brings you both plates of food and clears the salad plates.

Sam waits a beat after he leaves, then squeezes your hand again, smiling. “You in?”

You squeeze his hand back and take a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m in, just trying not to freak out.”

“OK. Well I’m right here. If you freak out, you can tell me what’s freaking you out, and I can tell you why it’s OK.”

“Yeah … as you may have noticed, talking is  _not_  my forte when that happens. I have trouble not running for my life, literally.”

 _What the hell was done to you?_ He wants to ask the question, but it feels too accusatory, so he’ll wait for that too. Instead, Sam pulls out a flip memo pad from his pocket and a pen and slide them across the table to you. “Then write it down if you have to, just tell me, and  _I’ll tell you why it’s OK_.”

“OK.”

 _♪Like Real People Do_  by Hozier _♪_

 _♪_ _I had a thought, dear -however scary- about that night, the bugs and the dirt. Why were you digging? What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth? I will not ask you where you came from. I will not ask and neither should you. Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips. We should just kiss like real people do. I knew that look dear -eyes always seeking- was there in someone that dug long ago. So I will not ask you why you were creeping. In some sad way I already know. So I will not ask you where you came from. I would not ask and neither would you. Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips. We should just kiss like real people do. I could not ask you where you came from, I could not ask and neither could you. Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips. We could just kiss like real people do♪_

Sam goes back to rubbing circles into your hand. “How about we talk a little about some of the other things we  _haven’t_  been saying?”

“You mean all the 'misunderstandings’ we’ve apparently been having?” You laugh nervously and Sam joins in.

“Yeah. I think we’ve cleared the air about most of the stuff that came up on the hunt, since we’ve admitted how we feel.”

You smirk a little. “Yeah, I think we should hold off on discussing the rampant unresolved sexual tension from that trip for now. If we start, we might never talk about anything else.”

Sam smirks back, his voice is an octave or so lower and rougher when he replies. “Yeah, I, ah, think you’re probably right about that. Again, surprised.”

You shrug. “You mean me bringing up our mutual desire for future nudity?”

“Yeah.” Sam blushes again, feeling like some flustered teenager.

“It’s a coping mechanism. Thinking about sex takes the edge off the fear. I mean I guess it’s the best part of swamping emotions for me, I can only really feel the big things one at a time and the more primal they are, the easier they get a voice.”

“So what you’re saying is that for you, ah, lust is stronger than fear?”

“In your case anyway, but with all due respect to Sandra Bullock, you, and me, I’d rather we not base this thing between us off of sex.”

“Me either. So anything  _else_  about the hunt you want to talk about?”

“That kid at the coffee shop?”

“Yeah?” He’s sort of afraid to know, but he reminds himself of what Dean said: he wasn’t with you at all then.

“He thought you might have been feeling a little jealous and based on what I know now, I’m starting to think that might have been a little true.”

Sam shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. “Maybe a little.”

You see the way his smile wavers, the look in his eyes. “Sam,  _seriously_ , you _never_  had anything to worry about. That kid only had my attention for like a minute because he reminds me of you, and for that minute, I wondered what it’d be like if we’d met when you were that age and I wasn’t all screwed up.”

Sam smiles, biting his lip. “I was already screwed up by that point.”

You smile back and squeeze his hand. “I never could pass up redeemable strays. I would have taken you home anyway.” You feel him relax under your hand this time. “But maybe this is better because we’re both a little broken so we both understand that.”

“Yeah, maybe it is.”

“So what I was saying is: that kid never had a chance. I just wanted  _you_.”

Sam chuckles. “You know, Dean said almost  _exactly_  that, and I couldn’t listen to him.”

“Yeah, well, your brother is pretty smart sometimes.” You smile at Sam, fondly.

“He is. So we’ve talked about the stuff from the hunt and the summer, what about before that?”

You grin sheepishly. “You mean like the night we played pool and got plastered, and conversations around that?”

“Yeah. How about I tell you what was going on for me and then you can hop in?”

You nod, and keep a hold of his hand while you pick at your food.

Sam takes a drink from his glass before starting to wash down his food. “I just wanted to get us out of the bunker, have a few drinks, relax with a few rounds of pool, and see how things went. I knew things were awkward after Saint Patrick’s Day. I didn’t know what was going on, but I thought facing it head-on made sense. It seemed to work. We were talking, playing pool, flirting, having a good time. We drank too much, but the rest was great. I mean I shouldn’t have tried to take things further when we got home. We were both entirely too drunk for that, but I was trying to have a do-over. I had myself convinced that maybe you just weren’t sure about something more than … friends who … get naked. I thought maybe if it kept happening, and I kept convincing you our friendship was safe, you’d change your mind and decide you wanted more.”

You just laugh for a minute. “I thought  _you_  were freaked out about us crossing lines, so I was trying to take things slow, show you how important our friendship was to me until you got used to the idea of us maybe being more.”

Sam runs his index finger over the stem of his wine glass, shaking his head. “Wow. So we were actively working against each other that whole night?”

“I guess so, but you still couldn’t help being my friend that night. Even hammered out of your mind, I remember dimly that you were taking care of me, making sure I didn’t do something stupid.”

“Yeah, well you weren’t so good at keeping things platonic, as I recall.”

“You do have a lot of game, Sam. I had no idea.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, not normally. You seem to be an exception.”

You feel heat start to pool in your belly and lower. “I think I like that.”

He grins. “Good. So in spite of our best efforts, we ended up on the same page because we couldn’t stick to our respective game plans?”

You nod, feeling increasingly like an idiot. “Because we wanted to be in the same place apparently.”

Sam shifts his jaw, awkwardly. “So where did things go to hell then next morning?”

You purse your lips together, sinking into your chair a little. “You know how when you’re hung-over, nothing seems real, and you can get kinda anxious about stuff?”

Sam takes a sip of his wine. “Sure.”

“Well it helped along this fear that woke up with me that morning. Like I said, I’ve been in several friends-with-benefits arrangements, and I was afraid we were getting into that. In my experience, that doesn’t convert to more well. I didn’t want things between us to get cheap.”

Sam nods. “And I was trying to act like it was no big deal because I thought you  _wanted_  us to be something more casual. Well that explains why things imploded. So you asked me for space  _because_  you wanted us to be more?”

“Yup. I admit. I was scared, and it made me unsure about what I wanted or how to go about it. I felt like what we were to each other was in an endless state of flux and my emotions were bouncing all over the map. I’m sure it didn’t help that I was playing things one way, and you were playing things another and neither of those things were a reflection of how we felt, and it all combined to make me more confused. I didn’t want to just be some hook up, and when you said you were trying to just do what Dean would do, I kinda thought that’s what I was becoming, so I decided to put a stop to it.” You finish off you glass of wine.

Sam drinks some more wine. “That makes sense. OK, so let’s back up to after that first night. I was really confused. You said 'nothing changed’ after that night, right?” He decides not to bring up the other things he’d overheard yet.

“It was sort of true, but not  _the way_  I’d implied it.”

Sam asks the waiter to refill your glass and then his, your hands moving apart and out of the way to give the waiter room. “What do you mean?”

You take a deep breath. “I mean, 'nothing changed’ in that I still wanted _more_  than friendship from you. I just thought that maybe you didn’t want anything to change between us, and I realized how much our friendship mattered to me and how awful it would be if I lost that. I mean even if you wanted something more, that doesn’t mean you wanted what I did or that it would last, but as long as I got to keep you as my friend, then that would be better than nothing.”

Unsettled by the memory, Sam runs a hand through his hair. “I thought you regretted what happened and wanted to … I don’t know, get past it or something.”

“No. At first, I thought you felt guilty because you didn’t want more, and I should just play it casual. Then I talked to Kevin and Charlie and they convinced me something real was there and I should just take it slow, then it seemed like you just wanted to be foxhole friends, so I broke all of it off and disappeared to sort out my head for awhile.” You take another deep breath. It feels good to get it all out, but remembering it all is still emotional.

“And I thought you wanted to keep things casual for a variety of reasons and that I needed to convince you there was more between us while continuing to keep falling into bed together … Just saying all that out loud I kind of understand why we were so confused.”

“Yeah, it was ridiculous.”

You take a minute to eat more of your food.

Sam swallows and then asks the question that’s been bothering him. “Why would you think that I just wanted to be foxhole friends?”  _You know I’m not 'that guy.’_

You shrug. “Because we’re hunters. Because most hunters I know seem to prefer that situation. Because as far as I know, you’ve never had a relationship with someone that was part of the life.”

“No, I haven’t, but I haven’t had too many relationships period.”

“Neither have I; I mean not real ones. It’s too hard, but I mean, with us we don’t have to explain about hunting. We don’t have to lie to each other.”

Sam takes your hand again. “No, we don’t. But we  _have been_   _lying_  anyway, haven’t we?”

You watch your fingers thread through his intently. “Yeah, we have. We’ve been lying to protect each other.”

Sam takes a deep breath. “OK, so you  _don’t_  want to be 'complicated friends’ or 'friends-with-benefits?’”

You take a deep breath too. “No, I don’t. I want to be friends, or I want to be together. I don’t want any more ambiguity between us anymore.”

And all the air Sam took in a minute ago, rushes out in relief. “Agreed. Me too.”

You are both almost done with dinner, and you have barely let your hands separate. It’s actually pretty impressive how you’ve both been eating like that. While they clear dinner plates, you excuse yourself a minute to freshen up.

When you come back, they’ve brought out gelato.

Before you starting desert, you offer an idea you had after you left the table. “I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I think we need another do over.”

Sam takes a spoonful of his gelato and cocks his head. “Sounds promising, what are you thinking?”

“Tonight, I think we should go home, curl up, and watch a movie like we planned, and tomorrow, we go out to play pool and redo that second night out.”

Sam grins. “With less drinking?”

You nod, sagely, taking a spoonful. “Yeah, maybe with almost no drinking, and we see what happens next.”

“Sounds great.”

You and Sam are eating you gelato just slow enough to prevent brain freeze, but now you both really want to just get home and cuddle … and maybe kiss some more …  _Definitely_  kiss some more.

You grin at him across the table. You feel  _completely_  ridiculous for thinking Sam wasn’t into you … So relaxed and open. “So we’re idiots? I mean  _all this time_  we could have been together and happy if we’d just stopped being afraid and said how we felt?”

“Sounds that way to me.”

You both start laughing, the relief, the ridiculousness of it all just curls through you both until you’re both laughing so hard you can’t breathe. When you both calm down a little, Sam takes your hand again.

After you finish your food, you and Sam find that Kevin and Talia have taken care of paying for dinner as well. You thank them and then put on your coats and head out into the night again. Once outside again, Sam holds you for a minute before you start kissing again. It’s a wonderful contrast: the heat of his body and his lips against the cold air around you.

Then Sam pulls back, reluctantly. “Let’s pick this up again when we get home.”

Home; you liked the sound of that. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Sam walks you to the Impala. “So did I  _do_  something that morning after Saint Patrick’s Day that freaked you out, or was it just hangover-induced paranoia? I’m just asking because I’m hoping that after the movie, you’ll stay in  _my_  room tonight. It’s been a really long evening, and I’d really like to have you there when I wake up. I don’t want to do anything that makes you want to run again.”

You think back to the dream. It seems so stupid now. It was stupid then too, but in light of everything, what if you’d just told him about the dream that morning? “That sounds perfect. I mean you probably will at some point do something to freak me out by accident, but we’ll figure it out  _together_  this time.”

“Sounds good to me. So  _was_  there something then?” He can almost hear you chewing on something.

You shift your feet. “Yeah, sort of. It seems really stupid now.”

Sam tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and then runs his fingers down your arm to hold your hand. “Just tell me.”

You take another deep breath. “OK. So … that morning, when you woke up you said something about being embarrassed.”

“Did I?”

You can see it all so clearly and as you remember the rest, it’s not so silly all over again. “Yeah. You woke up and you asked me what time it was and you looked around the room and sort of oriented yourself and said 'this is embarrassing.’ I said 'it is?’ and you said, 'yeah, must be slipping.’ I thought you meant waking up naked with me was embarrassing, that you’d slipped up by drinking too much and hooking up with me.”

Sam cringes. “Can we agree not to say 'hooking up’ in reference to each other anymore?”

“Happy to.” You take another deep breath, not feeling uncomfortable anymore as much as remembering the hurt and wanting answers. “So … What  _was_   ** _that_**  about?”

Sam tries to remember. “Give me a second, I definitely did  _not_  mean what you thought I meant, so I’m trying to figure out what I was talking about.  _Oh_. I was talking about the time. I didn’t mean to sleep in so late. I meant to just sleep off the alcohol and then wake up and pick up where we left off. I was _slipping_  by needing so long to recover from out night out … that’s all I meant, I swear. I was just embarrassed that I wore out so easily. I hadn’t been drinking too often back then, so my tolerance was down. I am  _so_   _sorry_ you thought that I didn’t want you to be there. It was about  _as far_  from the truth as possible.” Sam just moose hugs you, and you hold on, letting him comfort you.

“Oh. Wow … Really? Wow … you didn’t .  . . I was just  _so nervous_. I mean part of it was  _my stuff_  … and then I had this dream … and then when I woke up, everything was just so much like the dream and I-”

Sam pulls back a step. “Wait,  _what_  dream?”

You shrug. “Oh, I had this dream where you woke up and it was the same set up, same everything, and you acted like it was just a drunken hoo-mistake  … even though you weren’t that drunk since you drove us home and you’re pretty strict about that sort of thing … and then you told me ‘it was just a fun night’ and ‘we deserved to cut loose now and then,’ and ‘we didn’t need it to ruin our friendship or worry about what anyone else thought’ … and then I woke up. I tried to shake it off, but it was  _so real_  and then when you woke up and said … what you said … I just …”

Sam sighs heavily. “Assumed it wasn’t just a dream?”

You shift your feet uncomfortably again. “Sort of. I mean I’ve had  _that_ morning-after before. It’s not crazy.”

“I didn’t say it was crazy.”  _It might not be crazy, but it stings anyway._

You bite your lip. “You’re not saying  _something_  though.”

Sam sighs again. It hurt that you’d believed it so easily of him. “Alright; I just keep thinking about everything we talked about at dinner, all the misunderstandings and I know you have a lot of scars, but I guess I thought you trusted me enough to know I wouldn’t treat you that way. I thought you knew me well enough to know I’m not like that, and I’m kind of hurt that you thought that’s all it was.”

“Sam … I’d been mooning over you for  _ages_ , and I  _never_  thought you’d feel the same way. I thought I  _finally_  caught a break, and then I wake up and that dream … and then what you said … the fear just swallowed me whole. I realized I could lose you completely, so I figured that if I at least played along like all I wanted was friendship too, at least I’d get to keep that much.”

“That morning, I was confused because the night before I thought we were on the same page, that we’d said how we felt and what we wanted, but I guess we didn’t  _say it_. It may have been true, but we didn’t  _say it_.”

You take a step towards him, trying to close the distance. “I didn’t know you felt that way, Sam. If I’d known, it would have been different. I thought I was making things easier on you.”

He nods, trying to shake it off. “I’m sorry. I guess it just caught me off guard.” Sam takes a deep breath. “I guess we  _both_  weren’t communicating at our best then.” Sam gives you another hug because in spite of feeling hurt, he can’t stand seeing you looking hurt too, and he wants to reassure you that even if he’s hurt, he still wants this. He breaks off the hug and takes your hand again and opens your door so you can climb into the Impala. “Let’s get out of the cold and get home, so we can curl up with a movie. What do you want to see?” He wants to not care - _Damn it_ \- but it’s bugging him.

* * *

 _♪If You’re Gone_  by Matchbox 20 _♪_

_♪I think I’ve already lost you. I think you’re already gone. I think I’m finally scared now, and you think I’m weak, I think you’re wrong. I think you’re already leaving, feels like your hand is on the door. I thought this place was an empire, and now I’m relaxed and I can’t be sure. But I think you’re so mean, I think we should try. I think I could need this in my life, and I think I’m scared. I think too much. I know it’s wrong; it’s a problem I’m dealing. If you’re gone maybe it’s time to come home. There’s an awful lot of breathing room, but I can hardly move. And if you’re gone, baby, you need to come home, 'cause there’s a little bit of something me in everything in you.♪_

_♪I bet you’re hard to get over. I bet the room just won’t shine. I bet my hands I can stay here. I bet you need more than you mind. And I think you’re so mean. I think we should try. I think I could need this in my life, and I think I’m scared that I know too much. I can’t relate and that’s a problem I’m feeling. If you’re gone, maybe it’s time to come home. There’s an awful lot of breathing room but I can hardly move. If you’re gone, baby, you need to come home. There’s a little bit of something me in everything in you.♪_

_ _

You can feel something is still off, but you let the small talk continue to the bunker. Once you get there, you wait Sam out until you get to the kitchen, prowling for snacks. You both take off your coats, laying them on the stainless steel counter. “OK Sam, what is it? We said we’d talk it  _all_  out. You’re  _not_  OK, so tell me what it is.”

Sam leans on the refrigerator, the necks of two water bottles between his fingers. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things … I don’t … but what you said … I’m sorry. I can’t just pretend I’m not upset about what you said about that first morning. I can’t.”

Your brow furrows as you feel fear start to lance through you, but you order yourself not to give into it this time. “I thought we discussed it.”

Sam nods. “We did. And when you told me you were just trying to protect our friendship and why you reacted the way you did, I got it. It’s just bothering me that the thing that set you off initially wasn’t really anything I said or did in  _real life_ ; it was a  _dream_. All the pain and drama of the last eight months was, on some level, because of a dream. Stop me if I’m missing something.”

You’re quiet. He’s right. Really, that’s what kicked it off. If your judgment hadn’t clouded by that stupid dream, you wouldn’t have reacted to Sam making some off-handed comment like that. If you hadn’t already had your trigger squeezed, you might have asked him about more fully it right then and saved you both a lot of pain. “No, I guess you’re not.”

Sam puts down the water bottles on the counter. “You didn’t even really talk to me about where your head was at before you started making assumptions. I can’t help but think that if you had just told me about the dream from that start, we could have skipped every other misunderstanding. I wasn’t  _some stranger_  from the bar. I was  _your friend,_  and I thought you would have trusted me enough to at least tell me where your head was at. Even now, you can’t say straight out that you have feelings for me.“ He waits a beat to see if you say something, but you can’t. Things have taken a dizzying turn again. "In the dream, when the tables were turned, did you  _tell me_  how you felt in _any way_  or  _what you wanted_?”

You shake your head. He’s right, and you can feel you voice getting smaller with shame. “No, I didn’t, and afterwards … I was too stunned, too hurt to do anything but play along. I didn’t want to lose  _everything_.”

“Then you can understand why I’m still upset?”

Something sparks in you, something you haven’t felt for awhile, and its feisty and  _this time_ , it’s going to fight for this and for you. “Yeah, when you put it that way, I get it. Look, it was not one of my finer moments of judgment. I’m sorry. I was barely awake and my head was spun around. It was one of those dreams that seemed very real and the stakes felt really high, and I just felt like maybe the night before and what it meant was all in my head. It’s not like that dream was the only thing that was going on for me in that moment, Sam. It may have kicked it off, but it did not stand alone. I guess I thought that if you wanted more and I was misreading things, you’d call me out.” You’re on a roll now and your back is up, but Sam is scaring you a little. "Why didn’t you argue with me when I tried to leave to check on Kevin? Or when I told you that 'nothing had changed?’”

Sam steps back a little, huffing out a breath defensively. “You’re not the only one who’d had feelings for … awhile before that night! It wasn’t any easier for me to hear you say 'nothing had changed!' For the record, I went after you after I got my shower and felt awake enough to have a real conversation about it, and then I heard you crying. I heard you tell Kevin you thought you made a 'huge mistake.’ So I didn’t see any point discussing it further. You wouldn’t be the first person ever to have morning-after remorse.”

"I was  _crying_  because I thought I screwed everything up, by not thinking things through! I honestly never thought things would go that far! I was glad they did, but frankly, things would have been less confusing if they’d stopped at the bar. You kiss someone, you probably like them. You go to bed with them, and you might just have an itch that needs scratched.” You take a deep breath and press on.“I was  _worried_  because I thought you said you were embarrassed about what happened. After my conversation with Kevin, he overheard you about an hour later in the kitchen. He said Dean said something about 'all that nothing.’ What was Dean talking about?“

Sam thinks back through the haze of frustration that seems to be demanding a lot of blood at the moment. "I was just paraphrasing  _you_  saying 'nothing had changed’ to Dean! When he asked me how things went, I said something like apparently 'nothing had changed,’ he said ’ _nothing_  was sure loud’ … I didn’t mean what happened between us meant 'nothing’ to me. I was just upset because of whatever I overheard, and Dean was just feeding it back to me as a way of basically saying he didn’t think it was 'nothing’ either.” Sam paces the room once and then turns back to you huffing out another breath. “If Kevin had stuck around, he would have heard me tell Dean that  _somehow_ since waking up, everything had gone to hell. Do you have  _any idea_  what I went through hearing you  _crying_? I felt  _terrible_.”

You find yourself taking a step towards him. “If you’d stuck around Kevin’s door, you would have heard me tell him that I thought I’d made a mistake because I’d misread what you wanted from me. I didn’t go talk to you that morning  _because_  I was crying. I didn’t want you to see that and think … what you apparently thought anyway!“

Sam just stands there for a minute while you let loose, listening and trying not to wonder why it’s so much easier to find out what’s really going on with you when you start yelling.

You realize that you’re yelling now, but you can’t seem to stop. A _t least I’m not running._   _”_ For the  _first time_ , I was thinking beyond finding out if you saw me the way I saw you, and I  _realized_  I should have gone about it entirely differently, but that fear made me realize how important you were and what it would meant if you didn’t want what I wanted, but I had to figure out what I wanted too. That morning, I had this moment where I realized that I could lose you, that everything could go a completely different way than the way I wanted and what I could lose. If that night cost me our friendship, you in my life, than it would have been a mistake. Nothing is worth that.  _Nothing_!”

“Look, I get that you were feeling insecure, but  _so was I_.“ Sam realizes he’s yelling too, but he doesn’t see that stopping yet either. "And just because ‘I’m the guy’ does  _not_  mean that it’s my responsibility to read your mind and tell you 'how I really feel’ when the first words out of your mouth the next morning are that you want us to be 'just friends.’ It’s  _not fair_  to expect me to be a mind-reader. And it’s  _not fair_  to expect me to put my feelings on the line when you’ve told me that all that happened between us is that we had some 'drunken fun’ as friends. You didn’t tell me what I meant to you either! The way you felt in  _that dream_  is the way you made me feel in  _real life_!”

You feel like he slapped you. The idea that you sort of started the entire horrible chain of misunderstandings by hurting Sam -even by accident- because of some stupid dream in cahoots with your baggage sucks the air out of the room, and your voice is  _immediately_  back to normal volume.  _My past is going to just keep ruining my life isn’t it? I’m just never going to get free of it screwing me up, so I keep screwing up my life, so I am never free of it … No … Not this time … Gotta fix this._

You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know what else to say.  _I didn’t know how you felt._  I didn’t know what the situation was for you. You would  _not_  have been the first friend I’ve ever woken up with who thought we made a mistake.” You take another deep breath. “The last eight months haven’t been easy on either of us, and I think it caught us both off guard considering how well it started.” You take a step towards him, but don’t close the distance, sensing that he might not want you to right now. “What else can I say to get us past this?”

Sam runs his hand through his hair again, still frustrated, but his voice is back to normal volume again too when he speaks. “I don’t know.” He sees the fear in your eyes the second he says that, and he  _knows_  that shouldn’t make him feel better, but it does. Still, he doesn’t want you to run again. He takes a deep breath and picks up one of the bottles of water, his voice gentler, but still clearly hurt. “_______, I’m  _not_  saying I don’t still want to be with you, but I need a little time to process this first.” He picks up his coat from where it rested on a the counter. “ We’ll be fine. I just need to get over it, I guess. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“OK.”  _What else was I supposed to say?_ “I felt like I was  _extremely_  clear about how I felt that night, Sam.”

Sam slants you a hard look, full of reproach. “There’s a  _big_  difference between telling me that you want me in your mouth or your bed and telling me you want me in your life or your heart.”

Staggered, you watch Sam storm off to his end of the bunker.  _Well isn’t that just the biggest mike drop? How did things spin so far off **again**?_

_♪I think you’re so mean, I think we should try. I think I could need this in my life, and I think I’m scared, do I talk too much. I know it’s wrong, it’s a problem I’m dealing. If you’re gone, maybe it’s time to come home. There’s an awful lot of breathing room, but I can hardly move. and if you’re gone, yeah, baby, you need to come home. There’s a little bit of something me in everything in you♪_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The exit’s a little rough, but then it’s open water straight to Australia … get it … Cuz it’s down under … 
> 
> On a more personal note, I’m posting some things related to supporting Jared Padalecki (as well as general SPN fangirling) on my other tumblr blog: https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/carryonmywaywardwoman and I’ve been tweeting a lot. He's having a tough time. So post some love on his FB wall or tweet it out if you have a chance. He'd do the same for any of us. 
> 
> Jared does so much for the fans to show love and support and he needs some love back right now. Not just this weekend, when he’s struggling, but next week, and the week after that. He doesn’t forget us. Let’s keep supporting him back. We’re a family. We stick together. And I know I have a small following, but I love you guys. If you ever need a reminder that you matter, just remember, fangirls/boys are legion and we answer that call. If one of us can’t shout back, someone else will take up that call.


	20. Taste the Rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader finds a way to show Sam what he means to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been leaving me lots of comments, and all those bookmarking, recommending, and sending me kudos!!!! One more chapter to go in this arc. Hope you like them LONG. What am I saying? Of course, you do. You like Sam ;) HUGS and love to all the SPN fans Hellaitus has begun!

Unbeknownst to both of you, Dean and Castiel overhear your argument with Sam in the kitchen. When they hear both of you retreat to your separate rooms, they come into the kitchen.

Dean cracks a beer and turns to Cas. "Poor Sammy, the guy can't catch a break. He's just on the emotional rollercoaster from hell with no safety bar. Thank God he's strong enough to hold onto the car." Dean takes a long swallow. "I guess Sam will have to go spank the monkey tonight."

Castiel looks at Dean, confused. "Did the monkey commit Shenanigans?"

"No. It's not Saint Patrick's Day anymore; the game is _over_."

Castiel cocks his head to the side, more puzzled. "So why will Sam be spanking the monkey? Was the monkey bad?"

Dean nearly spits out his beer. "There is no monkey!"

"But you just said . . . Dean, why are you yelling? Will I need to spank the monkey as well? Is that a new house rule?"

Dean just shakes his head. "It's a figure of speech, Cas. There is no new house rule, no monkey, and yelling does not necessarily mean spanking . . . anything."

"I am sorry, Dean. It is all very confounding. I thought things would be better between Sam and _____ now."

"So did I, buddy. I think they did too. Sounds like they're gonna be OK eventually, though."

Castiel's voice gets distant. "Yes, I think so. They know the most important things now, and they are both, at last, fighting for the same thing."

"Well, then I'm going back to bed. Nothing more for us to do, but let them sort it out."

* * *

_♪Need The Sun To Break_ by James Bay♪

_♪I'm halfway gone, sleepless I'm battle-worn. You're all I want, bring me the dawn. I need the sun to break, you've woken up my heart, I'm sinking, all my love could change. Been in the dark for weeks and I've realized you're all I needed. I hope that I'm not too late, I hope I'm not too late._ _♪_

_♪Back of the room, how come my friends already know you? Feel like a kid, too shy to speak up, so I keep it hid. Oh butterflies, you steal my sleep each night. I need the sun to break, you've woken up my heart, I'm sinking, all my love could change. Been in the dark for weeks and I've realized you're all I needed. I hope I'm not too late, and I hope I'm not too late._ _♪_

Sam doesn't want to leave you in the kitchen, but he's too hurt and too pissed . . . and he cares about you too much to stay. Now he has to leave to protect both of you.

He doesn't stay in his room after he leaves you in the kitchen. After pacing his room like a caged tiger for half an hour, replaying the conversation over and over, he changes and heads to the range. _It's amazing how many different ways she can say how she feels **without actually saying it.**_ He turns target after target into confetti, feeling awful. Half a dozen times he thinks about just going to your room and trying to find a way past it.

_I'm such an idiot. I could be in bed with her right now, and instead, I'm here, by myself, feeling guilty for being upset when I have a right to be upset. Where is the upside to having said anything? I should just get over it. I should get over it and go talk to her. But the amount of crap over the last few months . . . it was all **completely** unnecessary. No. No it wasn't. It got us here and showed me that if **all that** didn't break us, we've got a real shot._

* * *

After Sam left you alone in the kitchen, you just stood there for what felt like hours. Kevin didn't come home. You didn't expect him to. Dean and Cas were laying low, probably expecting you and Sam to be . . . enjoying your evening. You almost smile at the irony while you replay things over and over in your head and slump to your room where you flop on the bed. You expect the tears, but they don't come. All you can think about is two things: Sam has feelings for you, and that look of pain on his face.

_He's right. I **know** him. I should have trusted him. Time to re-strategize. Sam's right about another thing too: He's putting himself out there, and I'm not, then and now. He told me how he felt, how important being with me was to him and wouldn’t compromise for drunken lust. That was a pretty clear signal, but I let fear muddy the water . . . I need advice. Cas will just tell me what Sam's thinking and that's being unfair to Sam again. No. Dean will not want to give advice about this. It's his brother and again, not fair to Sam. No. Kevin might know, but he's with Talia . . . and he will be **so** disappointed after everything he did to try to help me tonight. That leaves Charlie who will just tell Kevin . . . or Garth. Garth . . . that 's a **great** idea._

Knowing that hunters keep weird hours, you call Garth even though it's late.

"Hey there, baby doll. How're things goin' with the boys? You and Sam sort things out yet? I know you were hurtin' the last time I saw you."

After explaining the bones of the situation, Garth indeed has some great advice: “What would you want Sam to do if the situation were reversed?”

“Medium sized romantic gesture: something concrete, something that took time and thought, something that shows how he feels and how well he knows me.”

“Then that’s where you start. What would Sam consider a special treat?”

You bite your lip, thinking it over. “Something normal people do. I could take him to a museum or an art gallery or something.”

“Think closer to home. You need to show him how _you feel_. Do you _know_ how you feel about him?”

“I thought I did. I mean I do, but I’m not quite ready for giant leaps. I want to be with him, try a relationship, and see where things go. I’m not really ready to ask 'deeper feelings' questions yet.”

Garth's voice is soothing over the line. “So tell him where you’re at right now. Tell him you want more than his friendship and nudity. Sam’s not really in the habit of one night stands.”

You huff out a frustrated breath. “I know. The more people say that the more obvious it is. I guess I didn’t think past that night after the bar at first, and then when I did . . .”

"You remembered all the ways you've been hurt before. I get it darlin.' You have your reasons. Well, now you _are_ thinkin' about it. So show Sam how it would be if he was _with_ you, living in the bunker.”

“So a normal night at home . . . together. Maybe I could make him dinner and put on some of _his_ music for a change or maybe watch a movie that he’d want to see like the Dune miniseries or the new Star Trek movies.”

“Sounds like you have a great plan forming. Sam doesn’t need it to be fancy. He needs it to be from the heart.”

“Thanks Garth.”

“You got it, baby doll. Go get ‘im. And tell those idjits I miss them.”

“Will do, Garth. Come visit us soon. I miss _you_.”

“I might just do that. Miss you too.”

You feel better after you hang up the phone. You _know how Sam is. You can fix this_. And knowing him, you can't let him suffer all night worrying about you. This isn't about _him_ making you feel better now. It's about _you_ showing him where you stand and making it up to him. So you go to Sam's contact and send him a quick text:

**You:** You were right. I'm sorry. I'm OK. Don't worry about me. Take care of you. I'm not going anywhere. I'll fix this tomorrow.

You start planning, making some notes. After you have the details worked out, you head to sleep, only your new-found faith in Sam letting you rest.

* * *

Sam sees your text. He can feel the mad start to melt out of him a little. With your assurances, Sam does exactly what you suggest and stops worrying about you and starts focusing on letting himself be pissed for all the reasons he should be, so he can get it out of his system. It's a long time before he heads to his room, but when he does, he barely gets to the bed before he collapses.

* * *

After you wake up, you get a shower and start putting your plan in motion. You write Sam a note and deliver it under his door. You are careful not to let Sam see you, to let him have as much time to process at you can before dinner. You're willing to bet that Sam will eat less healthy if the food is something special. This requires a trip to the store, but first, you need to do something to get Sam to be in the right place at the right time, and Dean to _not_ be there. You get Cas to agree to take Dean to a classic car show out of town before heading to the grocery store, eating on the go as you run errands. You touch base with Kevin en route, so he knows what's going on.

* * *

When Sam wakes up, he showers, gets some food, and goes back to his room. He doesn't run into anyone. He doesn't really want to yet. He mostly spends the day lying in bed, brooding, one arm slung over his face. He drifts in and out of a light, restless sleep.

Sam wakes up a slight noise, sensing motion outside his door, hearing soft footsteps. He gets up and finds a note just inside his door. He picks it up to read it and takes it back to his bed. 

> Sam,
> 
> I'd rather say this to your face, but you gave me time -unwillingly or not- when I needed it, so I want to do the same for you.
> 
> Sam, I’m sorry. You were right. I handled things badly, repeatedly, and I wasn’t fair to you. You have every right to be angry. I’d like a chance to make it up to you and tell you how I feel. So I'm calling in my favor. Please have dinner with me in the kitchen at seven. If you need some more time after that to get past this, or if there's more you need me to do to make things up to you that's fine. I'll wait. I'm not running.
> 
> P.S. Please don’t come down before seven, so it’s a surprise.
> 
> P.P.S. Check your email

Sam feels more of the anger and frustration melting away as he reads your letter. When he finishes, he picks up his computer and checks his email. There's a link with a song you gifted him and a short message:

> I didn't actually write this song, obviously, but it fits. Just don't over-think it for both our sakes. One step at a time.
> 
> ♪ _Fight_ by Lee DeWyze♪

_♪I wrote this song to make you feel alright today. I wrote it to make everything alright, and I would sing it every single day if you would say we’re fine. I can feel your heart is beating careful, ‘Cus sometimes I pretend that I don’t care. I can’t believe I never let you know how much I need you here. ‘Cus I will fight and I will beg. I just want to hear you say that tonight will be alright if you will stay.♪_

_♪It’s times I feel like you don’t know me anymore and other times I think you know me best. I could love you better, but I’d never wanna love you less. So run away, and I’ll be runnin next to you. I’d never let you run away alone. Before you run too far away I think that I should let you know. ‘Cus I will fight and I will beg. I just want to hear you say that tonight will be alright if you will stay.♪_

_♪So put your hand in mine. We’ll be fine, I know, I know it, I . . . If you stay tonight, I promise I will show you. ‘Cus I will fight and I will beg. I just want to hear you say that tonight you will fight. ‘Cus I will fight and I will beg. I just want to hear you say that tonight will be alright if you will stay. So put your hand in mine. We’ll be fine, I know, I know it, I . . . If you stay tonight I promise I will show you I will fight♪_

When the song ends, Sam re-reads your email. He knows _exactly_ what you mean by not over-thinking things. The song said two words he knows he hasn't said in _that_ context to _anyone_ in a very long time. He imagines it's the same for you, and he understands. They carry weight, terrible, wonderful weight. And you're right: one step at a time.

* * *

An hour or so later, you come back to the bunker and get ready. You have a cute top on, a little jewelry, a little makeup, and jeans, basically dressier than hunter day wear, but not quite as nice as what you’d worn to the bar for St. Patty's. _OK, just a normal night in. Man, I'm nervous. This was so much easier before I knew I wanted more from Sam . . . and when I was four whiskeys in. I'm not going to have a drink though. I'm not going to make this easier on myself. That's the whole point._

* * *

 You finish dinner right on time. You don't want to stare at the clock, but it's impossible not to check, not to watch the steady progress of the second hand, each jarring tick, like Chinese water torture. _7:01. No Sam. 7:04. Still no Sam. He'll come. Have faith in him._

_ _

Sam comes in just as your shaking hands pull out some plates and silverware. He's wearing jeans and one of his dark flannel shirts over another shirt: normal night in the bunker. He indulges himself by watching you a moment, seeing how nervous you are, how scared you are that he might not show up. He lets himself _really see_ for the first time how hard this is on you, how much of the way you feel for him is there in your movements, and it shifts something inside him. Then Sam steps into your line of sight, letting his footsteps ring out on the linoleum. "Hey."

You smile, immediately feeling relieved and more nervous when you see him. “Hey, Sam. I- I’m glad you came.” _Why do I sound like I’m terrified? Must calm down. This is good that he’s here. Now I just have to not screw this up._

Sam’s face flickers with something more intense for just a second when you trip over your words. You see a glimpse of those puppy eyes full of vulnerability and then gone, replaced by an easy, warm smile. “I did. I owed you one.” He takes a seat. “So what’s for dinner?”

You buzz around the kitchen, checking on the dinner, and generally keeping your hands busy. _I can do this._ _I planned well and worked hard. Everything is ready . . . except me._ “Ah . . . pasta with pine nuts, sun dried tomatoes, spinach, mushrooms, caramelized onions, and chicken with a tomato cream sauce.”

Sam sits down, genuinely impressed and just watches you, trying to let you settle. “Wow.”

You pull a tray that's warming from the oven. “I have bruschetta while it finishes up if you want some.”

“That sounds amazing. Thank you.”

The buzzer goes off, and you finish stirring the pasta, combining the ingredients, spooning it into bowls, and adding the sauce. Then you set the table with the pasta and bruschetta, and tried to decide what to pull out to drink.

“So, do you want a little wine?”

“I trust the cook’s judgment.”

“Just a glass then.” You feel like your insides have been infused with a potent cocktail of nerves, happiness, excitement, and adrenaline and maybe more nerves.

Sam takes a whiff of the bowl you put in front of him while you open the wine and pour him a glass. “I’m surprised Dean’s not hovering with the amazing way this smells.”

You don't look up as you answer, still feeling very aware of Sam's proximity like he's generating static electricity. “I had Cas take him to a classic car show for the evening.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

You wipe your hands on a towel, finally turning to face him. “Yeah, I wanted a quiet night here in the bunker, just you and me.” _Please let this be the right move. What if he’s changed his mind since last night? What if he doesn’t want this anymore? What if he just wants me to apologize so we can go back to being just friends? Well that’s still better than nothing. It’ll be fine. I’ll just cut my heart right out and put that in a box like in Once Upon a Time, and then it’ll all be fine again. No. It's Sam. He said you'd be fine. Trust him._

“A _whole_ bunker for _just_ _a couple of friends_ to _hang out._ Why?” He sees you wince. Sam immediately wants to take it back, but he _needs_ to hear you _say it_.

He’s baiting you. You know that. But it still stings a little. You know Sam _needs_ to hear you say the thing you haven't been able to say up to now, so you take a deep, fortifying breath and jump. “Because I want to be _more_ than your friend.” _Oh God, I said it. I really said it._ _You got this; keep going. He needs to hear it. He deserves to hear it._

_ _

“Are you _sure_?”

You can tell _this time_ he's really asking, not just trying to get some of his pride back. He's watching you from behind his hair that's fallen in front of his eyes a little. “Yes, I’m sure. I admit, I didn’t really think further than testing the waters that night we went out for Saint Patrick's Day. I figured the difference between friends and . . . more than friends was sex. If you and I had good physical chemistry, then I’d think about what else I wanted. I _never_ thought about the next day. I mean, I didn’t even know if you would be interested until that night . . . and when I did . . . I got caught up in my own crap. I wasn’t brave enough to look past the next step until it was in front of me.” _Ugh, Sam, tell me this is OK. Tell me that what I'm saying is OK._

“Is that why you didn't make a move before now?"

"What?" _How long has Sam been expecting me to make a move? Did he know all this time?_ _No, if he did, he wouldn’t be asking this. OK here it is: the sticking point. You’ve told him most of this. He just needs you to spell it out. You can do that. Holy crap. He’s gonna really **know** how I feel. There’s nothing I can explain away or blow off after that. It’s OK he feels the same way; you already heard him say that like half a dozen times. _ You don't know why his question makes you feel like a deer in headlights at this point in the evening. Maybe it's because it's becoming clear to you that Sam has taken everything you said the night before and _really_ put _all_ the pieces together, and it makes you feel overexposed. He knows _everything_ you've hidden from him for so long that it was instinct to keep hiding it. Well _almost_ everything. But you're not gonna let feeling emotionally naked stop you.

Sam sees that look come into your eyes. He sees you start to fight it, and then he takes your hand, feeling you steady against his skin, your hand stop twitching. "Did you wait to make a move on me because you weren't sure I wanted you too?"

"Partially; I mean, I didn’t know what you wanted. Maybe you just wanted a friendship. Maybe you wanted a relationship. Maybe you just wanted to get lucky. You’re not a monk, so far as I know. We all have needs, and I’m safe.” _Someone stop me from babbling please. This **right here** is why the guy always is cutting the girl off with a kiss in the movies._

“Safe?” Sam barks a laugh, thinking about all the emotional ups and downs he's experienced since he met you. “ _Safe_ is not a word I would use to categorize you.”

“I just mean that you know I’m not going to try to steal your kidneys or knock you out to trade your meatsuit to Crowley, and I’m in the life.” _Well, at least he thinks I’m amusing. That’s good, right?_

“Fair enough.” _Wow, what kind of guys has she dated before that make those real concerns?_

You gauge Sam, asking the question most on your mind: “Did you think I didn't want to make a move on you?”

“I wasn’t sure. I mean, I know we flirted before that night and plenty since . . . and occasionally, I’ve caught you checking me out, _but_ I’ve seen you flirt with and check out just about _everyone_.”

You hear the edge in his last words and realize _that's_ hurt him too. Still, you can't help but feel it's not your fault that being who you are hurt anyone in this case. Being yourself isn't something you should be blamed for. “Everyone seems to be stuck on that lately.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. “I’m friendly. Sheesh. Like Dean’s any better.” _Why is that such a big deal? It's not like I fuck every guy I flirt with, and certainly not with you around to make them all look like cheap substitutes._

“I could’ve thought you were into Dean.” He points out.

“True. I wasn’t though, not seriously. I mean I’m not blind, and you and your brother _clearly_ have great genes, but I guess I couldn't really see him like that.” _Are you insane? There's only been you since that first case. I tried to shake it off, ignore it, forget it, move past it, nothing worked._

Sam rubs his thumb back and forth over the webbing of your thumb and your index finger. “Why not?”

“I guess I always saw someone else -I mean, saw you- first. I’d look at you, and Dean just wasn’t there for me like that.” _I might have given Dean a thought that way when I first met him, because he would have been uncomplicated and all I was taking home back then was uncomplicated. He was hot enough I would have considered breaking my 'don't fuck hunters' rule, but I lost all interest after I met you._ For longer than you even want to admit to yourself, the only one you wanted was Sam, before you even knew why it was there.

Sam smiles warmly. “I know the feeling.”

You feel a sense of relief start to seep through your armor, letting you relax a little, but still, you feel watchful. Empathy isn't reciprocity. Sam saying he’s had his eye on you doesn't mean he's ready to let go of his anger over your lack of faith in him. Naturally, you try to cover by being cute about it. “So . . . you noticed me too then?” You fan your eyelashes, playfully. _Obviously, you did, but I need to hear it anyway._

Sam rewards you with a little smirk. “Yeah, you’re pretty hard to miss.”

You feel joy move through you like a hit of caffeine, lighting you up. “In a good way, right?” You move closer, thinking about sitting on his lap.

“In the _best_ way." Sam squeezes your hand. "I wish you’d told me some of this stuff sooner.”

Feeling suddenly braver, you move to lean on the edge of the table on front of Sam, mindful not to bump anything. “That stupid, horrible dream just scared the hell out of me. Suddenly, all I could think about was how much I could lose by crossing that line. I could lose our friendship. I could get hurt, rejected . . . _None of that_ had fully occurred to me before. I mean it’s _you_. I figured _you’d_ never hurt me, because I knew you’d _never_ hurt me on purpose. Then that dream sort of showed me that you could hurt me by trying to protect me, protect our friendship, and I realized I wasn’t going to be safe no matter what. And then I started thinking about _all_ _the other times_ I'd been hurt like that. I should have waited until we had coffee that morning and said all of this, but I was scared, and I misread the situation and you. I _should_ have had more faith in you. You deserved that.”

Sam nods, taking your hand again. “You had your reasons. I _do_ understand that, but it hurt anyway. That said, I _don't_ want you to hold back from talking to me because you're worried about how I'll react; that's caused enough issues on its own on _both_ sides. Clearly, we both have our issues, and we're gonna have to talk them through as we go. I don’t want to lose your friendship either. That’s one of the reasons why I never said anything.”

You bite you lip, the relief you felt seeping away. “What are the other reasons?” _Please let this not be a list of all the things I like least about myself **or** **worse** , all the things I like best about myself. _

Sam can feel the apprehension rolling off you in waves. He's seen your fear tells off and on since he came into the room, and it needs to stop. He can't keep watching you be afraid of every other sentence out of his mouth. “Well for one thing, I wasn’t sure how _you_ felt, or what _you_ wanted. I mean we work together, and we have a good thing going here, you, me, Kevin, Dean, Cas, and occasionally Charlie or Garth. I didn’t want to screw that up. We _need_ you. You can take care of yourself, you’re brilliant, and you’re perfect for helping us get these archives in order . . . And I don’t really have the best luck with relationships.”

“Me either." _And I need you too._ "I _do_ trust you, Sam. It scares the hell out of me, but I do. It's possible that I might not _entirely_ trust you to stick around, but after the last few months, you might not fully trust me to stick around either and with good reason."

Sam shakes his head. "But, you could look at it this way too: in spite of _both_ of us having a hundred reasons to run and _no proof_ that we felt the same way about each other, _we **both** stayed_. That says _a lot_."

_We might actually be OK._ All the fears and doubts that had crept back in started to wash clear of you. "It does, doesn't it? I can't think of anything I'm really trying to keep secret, but there are plenty of things we don't know about each other yet. So we'll just be as honest as we can be and take it as it comes."

"Sounds like a plan. So now what?” Sam smiles, still, for all appearances, perfectly calm, but he's watching you intently now, noticing all the things he rationalized away before.

♪ _Holding On And Letting Go_ by Ross Copperman♪

_cIs anybody out there? Is anybody listening? Does anybody really know? If it’s the end of our beginning, a cry, a rush from one breath is all we’re waiting for. Sometimes the one we’re taking, changes every one before. It's everything you wanted, it's everything you don't. It's one door swinging open and one door swinging closed. Some prayers find an answer. Some prayers never know. We're holding on and letting go. Sometimes we're holding angels, and we never even know. Don't know if we'll make it, but we know, we just can't let it show. It's everything you wanted, it's everything you don't. It's one door swinging open and one door swinging closed. Some prayers find an answer. Some prayers never know. We're holding on and letting go. Yeah, letting go.♪_

You stand up, facing him and take another deep breath. "So now if you want more time to sort out being pissed at me for not having enough faith in you, and generally leaving you high and dry. It's yours. You can take your dinner to your room and avoid me for a while, or if you want, we can eat together."

Sam takes a sip of his wine, debating his next words. He doesn't want to be cruel, but he needs to know. " _If_ I want the time, how long are you willing to wait?"

You inhale deeply and lock your eyes on his. _For a chance at the right thing? All in._ "As long as it takes."

 Sam feels something inside him go very still, tuned in, listening for something that can't be heard.

You force yourself to just stay calm and not give him puppy eyes, which would be cheating at this point. _I can't believe the things coming out of my mouth. Am I crazy?_ "You waited for me. I mean I've been sort of waiting since . . . I moved in here . . . maybe before that . . . so what's another six months or so? I'm hoping I can earn your forgiveness before that, but I'm _in this_ now, so whatever you need as long as you want me to hang around."

Sam smiles, getting up and moving closer to you. He heard it: you're in this with him as long as he wants, whatever it takes. He leans right into you and gives you a soft, slow kiss, his lips warm and tender. Then he pulls back, his lungs now full of your breath. "Me too."

The relief that floods through you is immediate and reassuring. _We're really OK. For the first time, it's really OK. This is really happening._ You take a second to recover enough blood to your brain to form words. “Tonight, I thought we'd have some dinner and a movie here in the bunker, at home, together . . . see how that goes.”

He hears you say 'home,' and it's a reassurance Sam didn't know he needed. “That sounds like a date."

You look up at him, a little shy all of a sudden. “It could be our first date if you want it to be.”

Sam just grins at you shaking his head. “Nope. In light of recent revelations, I think we should upgrade our night out for St. Patrick’s Day to our first date.”

You cock your head at him, tone full of snark. “Really? _That’s_ the story you want?”

“Why not?”

“So for our first date, you showed me your underwear in a public place, carried me over your shoulder to head home, and we nearly had sex against a store window, in the car, in the kitchen, _and_ in your room. _That’s_ the story you want to tell? Why don't we use the night we got so hammered your brother had to pick us up and we nearly set your room on fire?”

Sam dissolves into laughter, part at your retelling and part relief that all the nonsense keeping you apart is smoke. “Fair enough. So how about St Patrick's Day was the night we realized there was something worth exploring and last night was our first date, when we realized we were on the same page in all the other ways too?"

You pull him down for a another light kiss. “I like the sound of that. So tonight, for our _second_ date, there’s also a movie, if you want.” You feel lighter than you have in ages.

"That sounds great."

You both sit and eat the meal you made, enjoying it. You had _no idea_ how enchanting it could be to make a meal for someone you had feelings for and have them gush over it. Every sound Sam makes, every happy mouthful, just makes you glow.

When you're both full, Sam helps you clear the dishes. "So what do you have planned next?"

You put the leftovers in the fridge for Dean and Kevin and pull out a covered bowl. "I made dessert too."

“That sounds perfect what are we having? Something with whipped cream?” He winks at you, nudging you with a hip.

You laugh. "Not exactly. I made Tiramisu.”

Sam takes a step back. “Seriously; you _made_ Tiramisu?”

“I am a woman of _many_ skills.”

Sam takes your hand and kisses the knuckles. “ _Clearly_. Lucky me.”

You blush and grin, trying not to giggle. “Do you want espresso or rum with your dessert?”

 “I think it doesn’t matter. I trust the cook, but the only thing I want to be drunk on tonight is us, so let’s take it easy.”

“Agreed. I’ll make espresso and just drop a taste of rum into it to tie with the dessert.”

Sam is clearly impressed again. “I never realized you were so savvy in the kitchen. I mean I know you can cook, but this is . . . wow.”

You plate two pieces of tiramisu and make espresso. You got a mini espresso maker after you moved in. “Don’t tell the others. They’ll want me to cook all the time, and Dean at least is perfectly capable.”

“Wow. Cooking _all this_ just for _me_.”

“I wanted you to feel important. Especially after everything.” You know you're flushing with pleasure at Sam's praise, but you're too happy to care.

Sam kisses your hand again. “I do.”

“Good. How about you carry the tray with coffee and dessert, and follow me?”

“Absolutely. Where are we going?” Sam follows you out of the kitchen.

“My room. I set it up so we could watch a movie, and I pulled out a few from my collection that I thought you’d enjoy and maybe don’t get much chance to see.”

“Like what?”

You put the tray down on a footlocker at the end of your bed and pull the movies out for him to pick one. “ _Dune_ , _Looper_ , _Lucy_ , and _Inception_.”

Sam just stares at you, and then around the room where he notices you have tea light lanterns lit around the edges. “You really planned _all this_ for me?”

Something about the look in his eyes feels a little too intense for comfort, no matter how much it’s what you want, so you try to play it off. “It’s no big deal. I made a meal and dug out some DVDs I _already own_ that I thought you’d like, but Dean might not be into. You did this for me like a week ago; I just didn't know it was for the same reason."

Sam's not about to let you play it off. If there was anything but affection for you left in him from earlier -any small remainder of exasperation- it's completely gone now. “You made a fancy, elaborate meal with a fancy, elaborate dessert and tried to pick movies with the _sole criteria_ that they would be a treat for me to get to see them." _That's an awful lot of effort for an apology._

You shrug. “I guess I need you to know how much you mean to me, and I thought this would be a way I could _show_ you since my words haven't really been my allies lately.” Your eyes drop to the floor while you’re talking, but Sam cups your face with his hand and lifts it to look at him.

“I’m _hearing_ you _now_.” _Come on, _____ just say it. You've admitted so much. Admit you have feelings for me. You're so close, and it'll be OK._

You feel so many pent up emotions washing through you, and your throat starts to feel a little tight. There is something in his hazel eyes right now that's _enormous_ , but you won't look away from it. “Good. Look, I’m not comfortable talking about _exactly_ how I feel yet, and honestly, I’m not quite ready to label what we are now. But I _do_ want to be with you as more than your friend and not just for sex. I respect you, and I care about you, and I _really_ wish I could be more articulate right now because I’ve wanted you for a long time, and it runs deeper than lust. I feel more for you than that. That much I’m sure ab-.”

Sam was so sure up until now that he needed to hear you say you 'had feelings for him,' but _now_ , hearing you tripping adorably over your words, it doesn't seem very important anymore. _Close enough._ He cuts you off with a kiss, holding your face to his, and then taking one hand from your face to wrap around you and pull you against him. Your hands are in his hair, and stroking his flannel-covered chest, needy for him. Eventually, Sam winds the kiss down, still cupping your face while he starts to speak. “I’ve been thinking about you for a long time too. I guess that’s why I was so upset. I thought that if you gave up so easily, I must not matter to you that much. I guess I didn’t think that I could matter _so much_ that you were afraid to risk losing _me_ and would _sacrifice_ _your own_ _feelings_ to do it.”

“Sam, I know I utterly failed trying, but I would do _anything_ to protect you. I thought I was protecting you that morning and pretty much every minute since; I swear.” You're just feeling shaken. Like every breath is hard, but you hold onto Sam, and let that soothe your nerves.

Sam feels you start to calm again under his hands, but he holds onto you. “I’m _getting_ that. Look, from now on, no more protecting each other by not saying something important.”

You have to nearly bite your tongue in half to keep from saying something snarky about protecting the ones you love with weighty secrets being _the Winchester way_. “Deal.” You lean in for another quick kiss.

Sam gives the DVD cases another quick look. “So what if I want to watch _all_ of these movies?”

You calculate the rough combined screen time.“Then I guess you’re staying the night in my room and possibly part of tomorrow.”

Sam just smiles, holding you closer. “That sounds like an _outstanding_ invitation.”

Sam decides you should at least start with _Dune_ because that was a movie that _both_ of you had seen, but not recently. _Dune_ wasn’t Dean’s thing, too much religion. Sam also figures that with the amount of pleasant tension between you, watching something that's new to both of you and requires attention is impractical. You're still shaking a little, but you manage to put in the DVD, while Sam sets up the plates and espresso on your footlocker. He takes off his shoes before sitting at the end of your bed and moves the footlocker just far enough from the edge of the bed, so there's room for his legs, thus turning your trunk into a coffee table.

♪ _Pull Me down_ by Mikky Ekko♪

_♪Oh I heard you were trouble, and you heard I was trouble, but your name is a wave washing over me. No games, just a slave to you totally. Cause I don't care about what they say about you, virgo. And you don't care about what they say about me, virgo, but you know what they say about trouble. Pull me down if you want to, and I hope that you want to, 'cause I want to be your man, and I wanna say it loud. You can show me where trouble goes, tell me secrets only trouble knows, 'cause you wanna be my girl, and you wanna say it loud. I want you to know that I've got your back even when the whole foundation seems cracked. Two punk kids up against the world, ya trouble, there goes trouble. We could be king and queen of the moonlight, two young lovers, and when the moods right you hear me say 'I want you.' Pull me down if you want to, and I hope that you want to 'cause I want to be your man, and I wanna say it loud. You can show me where trouble goes, tell me secrets only trouble knows, 'cause you wanna be my girl, and you wanna say it loud. Ohhh and you want to say it loud♪_

You sit next to him and just let yourself bask in sitting beside him for a minute. Letting Sam wrap an arm around your until you feel more balanced. Before long, you both start digging into your desert and both of you are making indecent noises while you enjoy the Tiramisu and espresso. You and Sam exchange knowing looks while you eat. You consider taunting him with Tiramisu on your tongue the way you had _months_ ago with the whipped cream, but without the liquid courage, you feel more than a little shy and nervous and a lot less saucy than you had at the bar and after. After Sam’s comment the night before about wanting to be sure you want _him_ and not just his body, you are trying to let him take the lead, but at one point, after Sam makes a particularly obscene moan, you look over at him and realize: he's _baiting_ you. It helps you find a little of your sassy self. “So, based on those sounds, I’d say you like my Tiramisu _almost_ as much as much as the whipped cream.”

Sam makes that little growling noise you recall so well. “Based on the noises _you’re_ making, I’d say you’re enjoying it almost as much as when I’m tasting _you_."

You hold his gaze for just for just a second too long, enjoying Sam's other side coming out to play, before taking another bite. "After our conversation last night . . . I thought you might want to take things slow since you wanted to be sure I want you for more than just . . . whipped cream tasting."

Sam drains his coffee. "I think you've done more than enough to prove that to me."

You exchange a look with him and put your now-empty plate, cup, and spoon down on the tray. Sam mirrors your gesture, clearly waiting.

As soon as his hands are free, you roll onto him, legs wrapping around his waist. "Oh good. I'm losing my mind a little here trying to behave."

"Happy to drive you crazy." Sam's hands wrap around you, coasting up your back then splitting off, one in your hair and one cupping your ass and pulling you closer.

You moan and move your hands around to start tugging on his belt. Sam pulls back. "Hang on a sec."

You try to tone down your exasperation, but it's a real challenge. "Sam, I think we covered foreplay already, those two nights and all the sexual tension for months . . . We've waited long enough."

Sam leans in like he's going to kiss you, and then moves just out of reach, teasing you. "Yeah? Well we've never done _any of this_ sober, and I want to remember _all_ of it. I don't want to rush. And it's not because I'm not sure or I don't want you or I don't want to mess things up between us. It's because being with you is important, and I want to do it all. I don't want to skip over anything. _We're_ not going anywhere. We have time."

You take an enormous breath and roll off of Sam, returning to your spot at the edge of the bed. "OK. You're right. I'm sorry. I need more self control."

Sam chuckles, nudging you. "I find it really hot that I make you lose it like that." He leans over you, pushing you back down on the bed. "And I didn't say we need to _stop_." He starts kissing along the side of your neck while you start to lose your breath.

You tense under him, not sure how to strike a balance between responding and racing to the finish. "OK well, I'm on edge here, Sam. I'm not sure I can slow myself down."

Sam gets a wicked glint in his eyes that you love. "How about we take that edge _off_ then?"

"What do you have in mind?" You grin back, allowing yourself to run your thumb over the edges of his shirt, feeling the solid chest beneath the flannel.

You see Sam get a strange look on his face, caught somewhere between embarrassment and arousal. "Well . . . I have a confession to make. The other night when you and I were here, in your bed during ah Shark Week . . . you had this dream. I thought you were having a nightmare at first, so I tried to comfort you, but then it took a . . . different turn . . . I think it was a dream about me."

Your eyes go wide. "I'm not sure how to feel about you witnessing that."

Sam leans in and traces your ear lobe with his tongue. "It was really hot what you did during that dream . . . the things you said. Maybe we could have a do over on that too."

You start to smile and shift back the bad until you're reclining up by your pillows. "OK, what did I do from your perspective?"

Sam follows your movement and lays back down. "Well, you wrapped yourself around my right leg, right about here." He runs his hand over his denim-clad thigh to illustrate.

You move again, carefully lowering yourself over his leg. "Sam, um, I don't want to pinch . . . anything . . . ah sensitive, maybe you should maneuver me the rest of the way."

Sam smirks and reaches down; he moves more slowly when he sees you watching him hungrily. He cups his erection through his jeans, repositioning himself so his cock is pointing up towards his head. The tip peeks out of the top of his jeans, covered only by his briefs that seem too tight for comfort. Sam meet your eyes. "OK, just stay still. I know how much difficulty you have resisting temptation, but just watch and wait for now, OK? For me."

You take a deep breath. "For _you_ , I will wait, but just remember: we're playing fair now, so don't think you get to touch me without offering same."

Sam grins. "Deal, but for now that means you adjust you, and I adjust me." To make his point, Sam lifts the elastic on his briefs to let his cock be more comfortable.

You're practically drooling at this point, because now you can see the full, pink, glorious head of Sam's penis. "You need to cover that a little because we _both_ _know_ _you_ _want_ me to put you in my mouth and we _both know_ that _I want_ to do that, so my reasons for _not_ doing _that_ are pretty hard to argue."

Sam tucks his shirt into his pants, over his cock and grins at you. "Better now?"

"For now." Your gaze lingers over the bulge in his shirt for several long moments, before you shift your attention back to his warm hazel eyes and lick your lips. "What next?"

Sam swallows _hard_ , watching you look at him hungrily. "Now, you need to adjust yourself, so when I pull you forward, you can rub yourself against my hip . . . like you did a few nights ago."

You blush, laughing nervously. "Right. Of course I did."

Sam reaches his hand down to rub over your ass and down your thigh, reassuringly. "Hey, no reason to be embarrassed. That was a turning point for me."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. That night, when I hear you in your dream . . . I realized you wanted more than friendship on some level. It helped me decide I wasn't crazy for still wanting to be more."

You lean into him and press your lips to his, slow and soft for a minute before pulling back, Sam's revelation tampering your appetite for the moment. "Sam . . . I . . . I'm sorry. I never meant to feel like I didn't want you."

"I know." Sam leans back into your mouth for another few minutes. "Now, how about you torture me for a minute and dip your fingers, between your legs . . . where I'd like to be?"

You let out a hiss of air. "Well, when you put it like _that_." You make sure Sam is watching you first. Then you lean back on your haunches, unbuttoning your jeans, and then unzipping them. You slowly slide your hand down your body, starting at your throat, grazing your breasts while Sam groans, before slide them into your pants, inside your underwear and between your folds, moaning.

Sam can feel your fingers through your pants and his while you touch yourself. That combined with your moans has him bucking his hips, his thigh rubbing your fingers against your clit harder.

You let out a surprised moan and then lock eyes with him. "Sam, I need _more_. What now?"

"Spread yourself open. Then bring your fingers out and . . . let me taste them." His breath is starting to come faster now, harder.

You smirk back, moving your middle finger down to make it good and slick then back up to circle your clit, bucking your hips and spreading the moisture before pulling them back out. Sam leans forward to suck on them, but you hold them just out of reach. "Don't forget, Sam. Fair is fair. You owe me a taste next."

Sam slowly leans forward and sucks your fingers into his mouth, cleaning them thoroughly with his tongue before releasing them. "If you insist."

You don't even have a chance to reply that you _do_ insist, before Sam's hands are on your ass, pulling you forward, _hard_. The friction is glorious as you move against Sam, and as he pulls you against him, his scent fills your nose. Your hips move against him beyond your control for a minute while you moan, and then Sam loosens his hold.  While you breathe hard inches from his face, Sam takes one hand under his shirt, gathers precum from his cock, out of your line of sight, and brings his finger up between you. "A taste for a taste."

You lick his finger, making it clear _what_ you _really_ want in your mouth. After you make a show of licking your lips, Sam kisses you again, slowly, holding you still against him until you melt into him, getting drunk on the scent of him: sandalwood and sweat.

"So that night, you were about like this when I realized that you were _not_ having a nightmare. I was going to roll you back, but you were wrapped so tightly against me, I was afraid I'd wake you up and you'd feel embarrassed. We were _just_ getting comfortable with each other again. I didn't want to mess that up . . . and honestly, I was curious. At that point, I wasn't even sure you wanted anything physical with me anymore."

You snort at the absurdity of that idea. "Well, I hope I've cleared that up for you since I'm having a real time of it not tearing off your clothes right now." Sam laughs and the rumble of it sends the most delicious vibrations through your clothes where your bodies meet. "But just in case, you should know that just the _scent_ of you, drives me out of my mind. I mean for awhile there I was avoiding you just to keep myself from jumping you instead of talking things through."

Sam tucks your hair behind an ear. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. So what did I do next?"

"You held onto me, rubbing yourself against me, pulling at me, my clothes, nipping with your teeth, rubbing yourself all over me . . . I was losing my mind. Then you started talking, uh, calling out my name. I nearly lost it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. When you came . . . It was all I could do to hold it together until I could slip out to the bathroom."

You can see how Sam is caught between chagrined and out of his mind with lust right now, and you decide to push him over. "So you just held me while I 'rode it out,' huh? Then snuck out to get some 'alone time,' huh?"

"Pretty much."

"Well aren't you full of naughty, yet chivalrous surprises? You want to know what I was dreaming about _specifically_?"

Sam gives your ass a good squeeze, rubbing you back and forth against his hip. "Absolutely. Tell me about your dream, while you rub against me."

You groan, rolling your hips. "I can do that." Sam holds you closer, rubbing your body over him. "In my dream, you were coming into my room, but you didn't have food or coffee or chocolate, so you told me that you'd just have to offer sex to make up for waking me up."

"Yeah?" He presses you closer, listening to your breath start to break up.

You nibble on his ear. "Yeah. Then you crawled under the covers and started nuzzling your face between my legs. You pulled down my panties and sleep shorts and started kissing and licking, your hands pulling me closer and closer to your mouth, pulling at my ass, my back . . . then when I was begging, you crawled up me and started licking and sucking on my chest, my nipples, my neck . . . then you were kissing me and teasing me with your cock, stretching me out with your fingers . . . you were driving me crazy."

"You're driving me crazy now."

"What do you want, Sam?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. You're driving this show at the moment. What. Do. You. _Want_?"

"First, I want you to come for me. I want to see you fall apart on me, thinking about me."

"I'm always thinking about you."

Sam gives you a long kiss and his tongue tastes like coffee and rum and you. "Then all that's left to do is let yourself go."

Your mouth finds his again, his hands hold you close, increasing the friction and you move your hips, chasing release. You can feel it build fast, Sam's mouth on yours, his hands on you, his body moving just enough under you . . . You arch off him, gasping, pleading, "Sam . . . Ooh." Your vision goes white for a moment before you go limp over him, sighing his name.

"That what you had in mind?"

"Yeah. That was perfect."

♪ _Breathe_ by of Verona♪

_♪Look into this mirror tell me, what do you see? Beautiful can't begin to describe you, or what you mean to me. Come a little closer to me, let me see you spin. Want to get inside of your mind, I'll make you let me in. Open up your eyes to the possibilities. Take it there,  love the fear, you'd be surprised how good it feels to just let go and breathe, breathe with me, breathe, breathe with me. Shadows fall onto our bodies from a winter sun, lace on lace in strawberry shades as we both come undone. Open up your world, show me the deepest secrets. I would I'd understand. Watching us burn into a million pieces, one touch of your hand. Breathe, breathe with me; breathe, breathe with me. You can have me. Touch me slowly. Kiss me softly. Take me under. Whisper loudly. Push into me. Mark my body. Lose control now. Take me over. Breathe. Take me over. Breathe with me.♪_

Sam holds you, ghosting his lips over your face. "You're so beautiful when you come for me."

You rub a hand over his chest, letting the solid feel of muscle ground you. "While I take a minute to come back to myself . . . "

"You need a minute already?" Sam's teasing you, but you can tell he's all kinds of pleased with himself at the moment.

"They're really intense right after Shark Week, and I've been wanting you for _months_. I mean I wanted you before that, but it's been months since we . . . And again, _clearly_ you have no idea how much I've been wanting you. We're gonna have to work on that."

"Oh really?"

"Really. So, um, after I finished my dream and you went off on your own . . . Did you think about me?" You watch your finger trace patterns on Sam's shirt, smiling coyly.

"Yeah." Sam brushes your hair out of our face, his hips rolling against you slightly.

"How about you show me a do-over of your 'alone time'? And tell me what you were thinking about."

" _Show_ you?"

"Yeah. How about you show me _exactly_ what you did with one twist: when you're close . . . you finish in my mouth." Your eyes lock onto his, letting him see the full weight of your need.

Sam moans again, pressing your thigh harder between his for a minute. "Oh wow . . . that sounds amazing. Yeah, I can do that." He reaches down, his hand dragging along your thigh as he unzips his fly, your eyes track his fingers like a cat. Sam sees you bite your lip beside him as he lifts his shirts, revealing the head of his cock, made more visible now that his fly was down. "You wanna help me get these pants out of the way?"

"Oh hell yes." You maneuver one hand to pull down one side while Sam works down the other, taking his briefs down with them. When you can finally see Sam revealed down to his balls, your hips involuntarily roll against Sam's now naked thigh, while your hand strokes his shirt, gently scraping over his nipple.

Sam feels you start to squirm. "You OK over there?"

"Uh huh. So Sam, while you tell the story, you mind if I . . . play along?" You indicate sliding your hand into your pants.

Sam just stares at you for a minute, picturing. "So long as you understand this will _not_ be a long show at the rate things are going."

"Sam, we've both been on edge for awhile now. I'm well-aware of your tremendous restraint. We're just taking the edge off so we don't rush things, right?"

"Right." Sam smirks watching you slide your hand into your jeans as he wraps long fingers around his length, stroking lightly. "I thought you just did that."

"Yeah . . . I know, but I mean, look at you . . . all naked and exposed and touching yourself . . . It's made to order porn _and_ it's _you_. Now, back to our program . . . what were you thinking about?"

Sam yanks his eyes off you sliding your fingers back and forth between your legs. "Right. So you had just gotten off on me . . . I was imagining you woke up, and you weren't embarrassed. You wanted to keep going. You slid your hand in my yoga shorts and, um, took me out in your hand. Then you, ah, ran your tongue over me . . ."

You watch Sam start stroking himself up and down, your breath starting to match his pace: up, down, in, out. Your hand follows: back, forth. Every time Sam's thumb slips over the tip, you circle your clit.

It takes him a few minutes of talking to notice how you're being mesmerized like a cat staring at a clock's pendulum swinging back and forth, completely under his spell. Starting to enjoy himself on a whole other level, Sam's initial awkwardness fades away. "It is just ridiculously hot how turned on you are watching me like this. After this, I think we should get ready for bed, lose these clothes, and then I want to see exactly what those mischievous fingers of yours are up to."

Your eyes shut for a minute while the images Sam's voice conjures melt your brain. "Sam . . ."

There's enough longing and need in your voice, to drive Sam mad, but he keeps going. "You took me in your mouth, slow at first, tasting, then one long swallow. You used your hands and your tongue and worked me over, until I lost it . . . and you swallowed it all."

You hand moves faster as Sam's starts to pick up the pace. "Sam I'm gonna . . ."

"Ugh, me too. Come here." Sam's one hand, not pumping along his length, helps you shift your position so you can keep rubbing yourself and reach his leaking cock with your mouth. Your lips close around him about three seconds before you taste him, hot and salty washing over your tongue and down your throat.

Feeling Sam come in your mouth, hearing his moans, pushes you over the edge, and your hips thrust hard against your hand and Sam's thigh as you come again, gasping for him.

Shaky hands, running through your hair bring you back to reality.

"That was _so much better_ than what I imagined." Sam gives a full body exhale, while he holds your hand that moments ago was wrapped around his dick.

"Yeah. You taste better than I remember. After I can feel my legs again, we should move along to the next part of your plan, because based on the last hour, I will probably be back on edge for you again pretty quickly."

Sam chuckles. "I had no idea how insatiable you are."

You grin like the cat that ate the . . . Sam, while you pull your hand free of your pants. "Well a big part of that is _all you_. _Everything_ about you seems to get my mind spinning . . . and I've been thinking about _all_ the things I want to do to you for a long time now."

He plays with a lock of your hair. "Oh yeah? Maybe you can tell me more about that sometime."

"Maybe. Like you said. No rush. I'm gonna drag out that part for awhile. I gotta keep you interested after all."

Sam pulls you close, rubbing your back. "Yeah, I think you'll be alright on that score."

You cuddle up against Sam, holding on to him, while he keeps you close. After a little while, you start to wiggle your toes and shift up to kiss him. "Hey. Let's get ready for bed."

Sam kisses you back. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

**  
♪** _Everything Has Changed_ by Taylor Swift (duet with Ed Sheeran) **♪**

**_♪_** _All I knew this morning when I woke is I know something now, know something now I didn't before._  
And all I've seen since eighteen hours ago is green eyes and freckles and your smile in the back of my mind making me feel like I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now. I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now.  
'Cause all I know is we said, "Hello," and your eyes look like coming home. All I know is a simple name. Everything has changed. All I know is you held the door. You'll be mine, and I'll be yours. All I know since yesterday is everything has changed. And all my walls stood tall painted blue, and I'll take them down, take them down and open up the door for you. **♪**  
  
**♪** And all I feel in my stomach is butterflies, the beautiful kind, making up for lost time, taking flight, making me feel right, making me feel like I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now. 'Cause all I know is we said, "Hello." And your eyes look like coming home. All I know is a simple name. Everything has changed. All I know is you held the door, and you'll be mine and I'll be yours. All I know since yesterday is everything has changed. Come back and tell me why I'm feeling like I've missed you all this time, oh, oh, oh. And meet me there tonight and let me know that it's not all in my mind. I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now. I just wanna know you, know you, know you. **♪**

**_♪_ ** _All I know is we said, "Hello." And your eyes look like coming home. All I know is a simple name. Everything has changed. All I know is you held the door. You'll be mine. and I'll be yours. All I know since yesterday is everything has changed. All I know is we said, "Hello." So dust off your highest hopes. All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed. All I know is a new found grace. All my days I'll know your face. All I know since yesterday is everything has changed. **♪**_

When Sam comes back to your room, he's in his flannel pajama pants and a V-neck shirt, and you're in a camisole and pajama shorts. The clothes are a formality at this point and you both know it, still it felt off to just be there naked when he got back.

You catch yourself just staring at Sam and giggle when you catch him staring back. "This is stupid; why am I nervous? I want this. We've been naked together before. I _literally_ had my mouth on you in some very personal ways like half an hour ago."

Sam takes a step forward, taking your hand. “You did.”

“But then we were watching a movie, and we didn’t know exactly where things were going. But now we do.”

“Things don’t have to go anywhere right now if you don’t want. We can just go to bed-”

You move closer, needing to hold onto him. “I _want_ them to go places. But this is different because . . . because you _have feelings_ for me.”

“I do. And you _have feelings_ for me.”

“Yup. Wow. This is _really_ happening.”

Sam smiles and moves closer, cupping your face to kiss you gently. "It is, and _this time_ , we know _exactly_ what it means to both of us."

He's right. This time when you kiss him, it feels different. It feels like the earth is moving around you, and yet  you're completely still, that feeling of worlds moving and time standing still is dizzying, but it's OK because Sam's lips are warm and real and steady under yours, and his tongue is gentle and needy, just like yours. Your fingers move down, starting to lift his shirt off. You pull apart, and he pulls his shirt over his head, reaching out for you again, and you take one of his hands, pulling him down to the bed with you. You both maneuver the covers down and to the side, so both your feet are covered, but that's it.

You lean back on your pillows, and Sam slides his fingers under your top, his long fingers skimming over your skin, your ribs, lightly brushing under your breasts, helping you pull it off. He pulls the covers over you both up to his shoulders and lays between your legs, propping himself up on his elbows. Now that you're naked from the waist up -no liquor to dull the moment- Sam moves in, kissing you to make your mind go soft. He doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable while he takes the time to show you _exactly_ how much he's been looking forward to being with you like this. He wasn't lying about wanting to take his time.

Sam moves away from your mouth slowly, taking a detour to trace the edge of your ear with his tongue again, murmuring, as he makes his way to your throat. "You look so perfect."

You try to say something back, but it sticks in your throat, and you only manage to stroke your hand through his hair. "Mmmm."

Sam chuckles, kissing and licking your neck gently, like he's savoring the taste of you. He moves down to your breasts, taking his time, nuzzling into them with his face, tracing the undersides with his thumbs, cupping them with his palms, enjoying the feel, the softness. His thumbs circle around your nipples slowly, not teasing, just memorizing, then lightly running his thumb over them while they stiffen, and you arch into his touch.

Before, you would had told him to get a move on, but now, you're completely at his mercy, sedated by his touch. For the first time, you have a sense that this isn't your only chance to have him like this, so you don't need to think about what you want. You can just let things happen between you. The sensation of Sam's lips pressing lightly to your breast followed by the feeling of his mouth sealing over your nipple, tongue swirling over your raised skin, has you gasping.

Sam chuckles, lifting his head slightly. “You OK?"

Your hands thread into his hair, holding on through sensations that sweep you under like waves tumbling a stone. "Yeah. Very OK. Please don't stop."

Sam smiles against your skin and then goes back to lightly sucking on your nipple, his one hand, holding you under your ribs, his other hand still lightly caressing your other breast. He can feel your breath coming faster under his fingers. You're making soft needy sighs that are getting higher in pitch. He changes position slowly, his one hand moving down from your ribs to the waistband of your shorts and underwear. He hooks his fingers lightly under them and then freezes a moment, listening, his mouth an inch from you, his breath warming your saliva-damp skin. "You want them off?"

You nod, barely capable of speech. "Yesss; want off."

Sam shivers seeing you so strung out on him and grinds his erection into the bed just to ease the edge of it before he tugs the last of your clothes off. Then he gives your breast a last long, sucking nibble before kissing his way to the other one. His one hand covers the breast his mouth has just finished with, his fingers gliding over the hypersensitive flesh, aided by his saliva, rolling over the nipple again and again with his thumb. While his mouth begins to suckle tenderly at your other breast, the fingers of Sam's other hand begin to rub gently over your thighs and stomach. Your legs spread further, begging until his fingers slide to your inner thigh.

When his thumb moves down and circles your clit with firm, gentle pressure, you arch off the bed, pulling his mouth harder to your breast, making some unintelligible sound. Sam continues sucking away and then slides a long finger inside you, curling it _just so_. You arc again, coming hard.

While you're still making keening noises, Sam gives the breast in his mouth a parting kiss, and then nips his way down your belly to meet with his very busy hand. Sam slides a second finger into you, his mouth latching onto your clit the same way he was suckling at your breast moments before. The moment and the memory connect in your brain, firing another smaller orgasm through you, delighting Sam.

Then, as you feel a third one building, your hand, that's stayed with his head while the other is frantically fisting in your pillow, tugs on Sam's hair. "Sam."

It's ragged, barely a whisper, but it's full of need, and Sam's eyes lock with yours. He moves up the bed to look at you. "What do you need?"

"You. Pants off. Now."

He gives you a cocky grin. "You've been wanting to say that since the night you asked me if my pants were too hot."

You smirk at him. "Sounds about right."

Sam grins wickedly and moves back, shoving his pants down his legs, along with his briefs, and kicking them away.

When he lays back beside you, you muster just enough strength to roll over onto him. Sam feels your legs trembling and helps you. You take a minute to look down at his face, combing your hands through his hair, really letting yourself see the affection in his eyes mixed with hunger. You kiss him tenderly, then move lower, taking your time to trace over his chest, notice the way Sam surges up when you run your fingers over his nipples. You tease his the way he teased you, sucking on one than the other for awhile until Sam is panting. He bucks under you, his cock brushing not so subtly against your dripping center, and he lets out a groan that in other circumstance would make you think he was dying.

You press your eyes shut, gasping, wanting to just roll your hips, take him inside you. When you open your eyes, Sam's eyes have a question in them, but the answer you expect doesn't come to you. There's this sudden awareness of how much Sam means to you and how much has changed between you in the last forty-eight hours, and you're aware that if -no _when_ \- you cross _this_ line, it's going to be more than all the pleasure your body has been craving from him for over a year now. It's going to shift something inside you irrevocably. And you want it, but you need a minute because it feels so important.

Sam sees something in your eyes that makes him still, and rub the outsides of your thighs, soothingly. "You ok?"

You smile at him. "Yeah . . . but, now _I’m_ gonna say _not yet_. Apparently, us having sex is going to be a _big deal_. I don’t want it to be make up sex, and I don’t have my whiskey-forged armor on to make me feel more reckless and devil-may-care. I'm not freaking out. I think I just need to wake up with you and have us be OK first. You know? To convince myself this is real.”

Sam pulls you down, strangely not disappointed, and kisses you. In a way, you saying that, proves to him in a way he didn't know he needed that you're really feeling this the way he is. "Of course. It is real. It is a big deal with _you_ , with _us_. How about you turn around and take care of me with that talented mouth of yours?"

You smirk down at him. "And what will you be doing?"

Sam grins. "I'll take care of you."

"I like when you 'take care of me.' You're _really_ , fucking good at it."

Sam chuckles. "Yeah, well, your way of 'taking care of me' is pretty amazing too."

You lean in to give him another kiss and then you start shifting yourself around. Sam helps you maneuver, enjoying that he's the one that practically turned your limbs to jelly. He positions your thighs on either side of his head, making sure his hair isn't caught and then running his hands up and down the backs of your thighs, over your ass, caressing the large swaths of bare skin.

You enjoy the feel of Sam's hands a moment and then turn your attention to the lower half of Sam's belly, under your chin and to his cock, arching up towards you, within easy reach. You put your weight on your legs and ribs, taking your hands and running them along Sam's inner thighs, parting them, enjoying the way his skin is trembling too. You cup his sac in your hands, lightly tugging, then gently rolling his balls under your fingers. Sam makes a guttural sound of frustration and then bucks as your tongue darts out, lapping at the precome glistening from his tip.

Your hands, stroke at the base of his cock, almost massaging, holding him steady while you wrap your lips around him and start to suck lightly, tasting every bit of him that you can reach with your tongue. Sam takes a moment to enjoy the feel of your hot mouth closing around him again, the eager way he can feel you put more of him in your mouth, stroking constantly with your fingers.

While he enjoys, Sam's thumbs begin to stroke slowly, spreading your slick further from your opening up to your clit and back, rubbing it into every fold. Then he flattens his tongue and licks a broad path, dipping his tongue inside you and then up to your clit again, cleaning away every bit of moisture he just helped coat your skin with. Then he repeats the action, coating you with strokes of his thumbs and then chasing with his tongue.

You suckle at his cock, enjoying it all: the feel of him in your mouth, the taste of him on your tongue, the magnificent things Sam is doing with his tongue and fingers. Then he starts massaging your clit between his thumbs and pushes his tongue as far inside you as he can while you suck harder, moaning around him. When Sam feels your inner walls spasm and relax further, he starts rubbing your clit with his index fingers while he uses his thumbs to open you further to his tongue.

Your hips buck against him. _How have I never realized before how long Sam's tongue must be? How is he . . . ?_ His tongue licks inside you, and your mouth lift off for just a few seconds, gasping. "Sam, please . . . I need more . . . please."

Sam moves his mouth a little, leaving his thumbs inside you to stroke in and out while he moves his lips up to lick and suck at your clit. _Ugh . .  getting close . . . I can't believe I'm getting to feel her mouth on my cock for the second time in what? An hour? . . . So warm and wet, and her hands . . . stroking me into her mouth, cupping my balls . . . I'm gonna lose my mind._ He licks at you faster, using one of his slick thumbs to stroke back and forth between his lips, sucking on your clit and your dripping hole, his lips moving harder against your skin until he feels you pull off his cock, burying your face in his hip and then digging your teeth in just enough to leave a mark while you come.

Sam pulls his thumb out of you licking lightly just under your clit and over your opening. He continues doing that while you recover, then he feels you pull him back into your mouth, swallowing as much as you can, not stopping until you can convulse the back of your throat around him, while your fingers rub over him, slippery with your saliva as your mouth literally waters for him. _How is she swallowing all of me-_ And that does it: the feel of you greedily swallowing around him, has Sam coming down your throat with a roar that he muffles by burying his face deeper into your folds, grabbing a hold of your ass and thighs with his enormous hands.

When you're sure you've swallowed all he has to give for the time being, you relax, going limp over him and nuzzling into his thigh, gently holding his softening cock in your mouth, keeping it warm with the lightest caresses of hands and tongue.

Sam nuzzles your thighs and enjoys the warmth caress of your mouth. Then he kisses your thighs. "Hey, not that I'm not loving that, but mind if I turn you around?"

You pull your mouth away, still using your hands to keep him warm and chuckle softly. "I suppose that would be OK. Although, I could stay like this awhile longer."

Sam grins against your thigh, groaning while he wraps his arms completely around you, in giant moose hug. "Rain check for morning?"

You rub your face over his belly and start to help Sam turn you. "Deal."

You're face to face with Sam now, and he shifts you off to the side, pulling the blankets around you both. He tucks them between his legs a little, feeling a little cold now that your hands are on his chest and stroking his face instead of cupping his saliva dampened flesh. He kisses you again, his arms pulling you close as he starts to drift off. You're crashing too, sated for now.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we still go on that do-over date tomorrow? Shoot some pool?"

"Absolutely. That sounds great."

"Goodnight, Master Winchester."

"Goodnight, My Padawan."

♪ _All Through The Night_ by Sleeping at Last (originally by Cyndi Lauper)♪

_♪_ _All through the night, I'll be awake and I'll be with you. All through the night, this precious time, when time is new. All, all through the night today, knowing that we feel the same, without saying, the same without saying. We have no past we won't reach back, keep with me forward all through the night and once we start a meter clicks, and it goes running all through the night. Until it ends, there is no end. All through the night a stray cat is crying, stray cat sings back. All through the night, they have forgotten what by they do lack.  
Under those white street lamps, there is a little chance they may see you, a chance they may see you. We have no past, we won't reach back. Keep with me forward all through the night, and once we start, the meter clicks, it goes running all through the night. Until it ends there is no end, keep with me forward all through the night and once we start, the meter clicks, and goes running all through the night. Until it ends, there is no end, keep with me forward all through the night. Keep with me all through the night._ _♪_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like how things are progressing. Let me know. :)
> 
> Thanks to Spectaculacular-Sammy for being my sounding board (especially through the many, many re-writes this chapter went through) and for helping me find images. Her writing is awesome and you should definitely check it out. She also edited my gif of Sam reading the note. Thank you!!!!


	21. Rainbow's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and Sam wake up together and take some important steps in their relationship. Sam and Reader go on a third date and start a new chapter in their lives. Shenanigans & Blarney wraps up. Making do-overs filthy as fuck. You’re welcome.
> 
> This chapter is ENORMOUS, but I refused to split it. I refused to let any of you go another minute without the SMUT. Hope you like them LONG. What am I saying? Of course, you do. You like Sam ;) HUGS and love to all the SPN fans; Hellaitus has begun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Spectaculacular-Sammy for being my sounding board (especially through the many, many re-writes this chapter went through). Her writing is awesome and you should definitely check it out here I know this story would never have happened so quickly or been so awesome without you. And without you, this chapter would have taken at least another month. Especially that one part that I was just banging my head against, so to speak. Thank you!!!! You are an amazing friend, and I am so grateful that Sam, life, and fanfiction brought us together. 
> 
> HUGE Thank you to everyone who has been leaving me lots of comments, tweets, notes, and all those bookmarking, recommending, and sending me kudos!!!! You really keep me going :) This is the first lengthy story I have ever finished ever. I write LOADS. I start epics tales of epicness, but this time I finished and you all helped be with that, and for that I am so grateful. Thank you for you patience as this went from a 5 chapter fic to this 21 chapter, 150,000+ word story arc. LOVE YOU ALL!!!!

_♪Caught In A Moment_ by Sugababes _♪_

 _♪Your stare swallows me, and I can hardly breathe. I feel it's dangerous, could be deadly. Somehow I'm willing to do the things you want. Take me in your arms. Spoon-feed my heart and drip by drip, I'll take it all sip by sip. I guess that it's make or break boy here and now. We're caught in a moment, and I won't let it go. I am falling deeper, losing my control. Involved in a feeling, like the blink of a eye and the silence it belongs to you and I._  
  
Broke through barriers and passed a state of mind. I'm not scared no more. It feels divine. So take me in and catch me when I fall. I'm waiting on the edge. Uncut my soul snip by snip. I'm oozing it bit by bit. I'm taking it step by step boy here and now. We're caught in a moment, and I won't let it go. I am falling deeper, losing my control. Involved in a feeling, like the blink of a eye and the silence it belongs to you and I.  
  
Secretly, I let it slip, emotional I fall through it. All I know I'm losing my control. I'm down your way too far, and there's no turning back, and now, I'm shedding all my fears. I know; I know. We're caught in a moment, and I won't let it go. I am falling deeper, losing my control. Involved in a feeling, like the blink of a eye and the silence it belongs to you and I.♪

The next morning when you wake up, you're curled on your side, nuzzling up against Sam's stomach. His skin feels _so_ warm and comfortable under your face. You take a deep breath, remembering the night before and sigh happily, snuggling closer and running your hand over his chest as it rises and falls beside you. You're not sure whether you hear it or feel it under your fingers first, but you realize Sam is laughing softly.

When he feels your hand pause its movements, he traces his fingers down your arm, taking your hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. "Good morning."

"Good morning." You smile, heat rushing through you at the feel of his mouth on your hand. "Are you laughing at me?"

Sam's hair flops around his face as he shakes his head, smiling sleepily. "No; I'm just happy." He threads his fingers through yours. "And your hand tickles a little."

"Oh; been up long?"

Sam shrugs. "No idea. I've been dozing off and on for a little while now. You're really cute when you sleep."

You scoot back up to his head, wondering when in the night you slid yourself and your pillow down the length of the bed to your current location. "What are your feelings on morning breath?"

He cups your face gently. "Who cares?"

"Good." You lean in, giving him quick, soft kisses.

Sam rubs his nose against yours, kissing you back, his arms coming around to pull you closer, while you stroke his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

It's not long before you feel a gentle poke against your stomach. You stop kissing Sam to look down, noticing another part of him is ready for the day as well.

Sam gives you an affectionate smile. "Don't worry about it. How about I brush my teeth and get us some breakfast."

You look at Sam like he's _lost his mind_. "Are you trying to be a gentleman? Or do you _really_ not want me to take advantage of you right now?"

Sam looks at you, a little surprised. "I didn't want to push our luck. It took a while to get here and you're right: mornings have been sort of a struggle for us in the past."

"Time to change all that. With that in mind, I was planning to start my day off with some protein, but if you don't want me to . . ."

Sam bursts out laughing.

" _Now_ , what's so funny?" You give him an amused look, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his hardening cock and give it a few long strokes. "I was going for more _sexy_ than funny." You flash him a sassy smile and shift back down his body leaving little kisses and nips along the way.

Sam shakes his head and rubs your back affectionately as you move lower. "I was just thinking how often I've woken up like this: thinking of you . . . wanting you . . . and now . . . you're offering to go down on me before coffee."

You smirk. "Well, _I_ need the extra energy. I have a feeling I'm going to need it for later."

Sam looks down at you grinning, rubbing one of his nipples lazily with one hand and stroking your hair gently with the other. "That's the plan."

You run the flat of your tongue over his length from an inch or so under the ridge of his cock up to the tip, swirling your tongue in the slit to lap up the bead of precome that's formed. Enjoying the flavor, you moan as you lick and suck on the head, one hand on his hip, the other wrapping around his girth.

Sam groans above you, his hand moving from rubbing your back to stroking your hair while he rubs harder at his nipple, tweaking and pinching it. You look up at him, while you start to bob your head up and down. He looks so beautiful like this: all sexed out and lost in what you're doing. Sensing your gaze, Sam looks down at you, his eyes hooded with lust. He moves his hand from your hair to reach down between your bodies and cups your breast in his hand, causing you to moan around him and suck harder. Sam throws his head back and moans. He tries to reach lower and slide his hands between your legs, but he can't reach, so he moves his hand back up to your breast, rolling your nipple in his fingers. "Want to get that sweet ass up this way, so I can take care of you too?"

You slow down, carefully shaking your head as you lock eyes with his and then as he watches, you slide your hand down from his hip to touch yourself. You're already dripping for him. The feel of your fingers sliding down to circle your clit before dipping your finger into your slick to improve the slide makes you moan around him again.

Sam's mouth drops open, and he bucks a little into your mouth. "Sorry. Fuck. That's _hot_."

You release his cock with your hand for just a minute to rub his hip, winking at him to reassure Sam that you're fine.

Sam bites his lower lip watching you. He shifts his leg so that it's under you, so he can feel you getting yourself off with your hand while you blow him. He rubs his nipple a little harder, and does the same to yours. "You sure, baby? You gonna get yourself off with your hand while you suck me down?"

You raise an eyebrow at him and go back to work, sucking harder and bobbing your head.

Sam starts moaning in earnest, swearing and vibrating under you as he tries to keep his hips still while he enjoys your wet heat.

You rub faster at yourself, sliding between your opening and your clit. Sam's taste of dirty talk, talented fingers, and generally Sam coming completely apart is driving you to the edge _fast_. You suck sloppier at Sam's cock, saliva dripping down, letting your hand move faster, and sucking him down deeper.

Sam feels the back of your throat convulse around him a handful of times before he's coming down your throat hot and fast.

Panting hard through your nose, you feel him pulse under your tongue as you finish him off, and you stroke yourself over the edge, while Sam gives your breast a good squeeze, swirling his index finger around your nipple. Sam's softening cock slips out of your mouth, and he manages to tug you up his body to kiss you _hard_.

You nose against him, from his neck to his ear, licking the sweat off his skin along the way. "Hot _damn_ that is fine way to start the day."

Sam chuckles, breathing hard. "Yeah, that was . . . I could do with a few more mornings like that."

"Maybe tomorrow morning. What do you think?"

"In that case, I guess you'll have to share a bed with me again tonight."

"If I must, I must." You giggle, kissing him again.

He brushes a lock of hair out of your face, tucking it behind an ear. "You're kinda perfect, you know that?"

"Nope, tell me _all_ about it."

Sam grins. "How about I tell you over breakfast?"

"In bed?"

"How about the kitchen? I want to face the wolf-whistles with you."

You grin back. "Wouldn't miss it."

Sam pulls his sleep clothes back on from the night before, and you do the same, plus a bathrobe.

You both brush your teeth at the sink in your room and then head to breakfast, holding hands and stopping every couple feet to kiss.

You and Sam eventually make your way down to the kitchen. Dean takes one look at you and Sam, and he gives Sam a high-five.

You look at Dean, affronted. "Hey! Was that _really_ necessary?"

"Aww, feeling left out, princess?"

You stuck out your bottom lip, feigning pouting. "Yes." Dean high-fives you too. "Thank you. He didn't do _all_ the work."

Sam smirks. "No, I did _not_."

On impulse, you high-five Sam across the table. "Good work, team."

Dean shakes his head. "You two stink like sex. Get a shower, will ya?"

You grin. " _After_ coffee and breakfast. You'll have to suffer the smell until then."

Dean snorts, enjoying how happy you and Sam are. "Breakfast in _Alaska_ , maybe. It's one in the afternoon, princess."

You and Sam look at each other and start snickering. You wink at Sam. "Well, we got off to a late start. I'll make brunch to hold us over until dinner."

You start pulling a skillet out, while Dean starts making loud commentary to Castiel. "So, the awkward twins _finally_ got together."

"Hey!" You snap back over your shoulder. "I'll have you know that Sam is all kinds of smooth on a level even _you_ can't compete with."

"Actually, Dean-" Castiel starts to argue.

Dean shoots Cas a look. "Cas, I think you mean you 'don't understand that reference.'"

"Right. What Dean said." Castiel clears his throat, changing the subject slightly. "Indeed, you two certainly took quite some time to admit your feelings."

You shake your head, while you mix up a couple omelets, agreeing, but still feeling foolish about the whole thing.

Sam pours two mugs of coffee from the second pot Dean started and hands you one. "We got there; that's all that matters."

You smile at Sam gratefully for taking the question for both of you and accept the mug.

Still feeling perplexed by the _extremely_ roundabout chain of events that led to you and Sam admitting to and acting on your feelings, Cas is determined to make sense of it. "Do you realize that in the time since you two first acted on your feelings to now, you could have had a baby?"

For a full minute after Castiel speaks, the only sound is the buttered pan sizzling on the stove. Then you start choking on your coffee, while Sam pats your back, glaring at Cas.

Dean turns to Cas, watching you and Sam nervously. "Uh, Cas . . . C'mon, we need to have a little chat." Dean guides Castiel out of the kitchen, growling under his breath. "Cas, you do _not_ say the b-word. They just got their shit figured out. The _last_ thing we need to do is make them worry about having little Sasquatches running around. Let's just keep the 'baby' references to my car, alright?"

"But Dean, I was just pointing out that the time they spent apart was almost the same amount of time a human embryo takes to gestate."

"Cas, don't go talking about _anything_ gestating _anywhere_ _near_ those two for at least a couple years or until we see a pee stick with a plus on it."

You regain the power of breathing normally and look up at Sam's face, so nervous now. While you listen to Cas and Dean's exchange, you start laughing so hard that you double over and eventually sink to the floor. It feels _so good_ to laugh.

Sam laughs with you for a few minutes, and then helps you back up. "So, I take it _that_ did _not_ freak you out?"

You shake your head, still laughing. "No. I think I've hit my freaking out quota for awhile. I can't believe Cas said . . . sometimes Cas can be so . . ."

"Cas?"

"Yes." You pull Sam down for a kiss. "That said, after breakfast, we should do a condom check in case we need to pick some up when we go out on our date."

Sam reaches around you and tucks three fingers of his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, pulling you closer. "Yeah?"

"Well, last I saw, yours were all over your floor and things had caught fire a little bit, so I don't know if any that survived are still good on your end and mine . . . well I haven't needed any in . . . _awhile_ , so I think it makes sense to check the dates."

Sam smirks. "That wasn't what I was asking, but it's kinda nice to know it's been awhile for you too."

You smile at him. "Yeah, well, I can give you an exact count if you want, but at least since I moved in here."

Sam kisses you. "I don't need an exact count. There hasn't been anyone for me since you moved in either or before that actually, but I was asking if you thought we need some for tonight."

You smile. "Yeah, I think we do. I mean, I hope we do."

Sam grins, pulling you up against him to kiss you again, sliding his tongue along yours. "Me too."

You finish making breakfast, and you and Sam eat it quietly, holding hands and exchanging little smiles full of promises.

After the dishes are clean and more kisses are exchanged, Sam pulls you back to him, wrapping his arms around you. "I need to do a few things before our date. How about I meet you in the library around six, and we can get some dinner?"

"Sounds perfect. I need a shower. Do you want to dress up, or go casual?"

Sam gets _that glint_ back in his eyes. "You know what I _really want_?"

"What?" You curve your lips, intrigued.

"Wear that burgundy dress again. I've been wanting to get _you_ _out_ of _that dress_ ever since I first saw you in it."

You raise an eyebrow. "Was that before I lived here?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. That's a _long_ time."

"It is."

"Can you wear that blue suit and the red tie that matches my dress? I've kind of been wanting to get _you_ _out_ of that suit."

Sam smirks. "I can _absolutely_ do that."

You close your eyes, letting the anticipation swamp you for a minute and shiver. "Excellent. Anything else I can do for you tonight?"

Sam gives you this mischievous look, "Well, if you're offering, I have some ideas not unlike my wake up call."

You grin. "I think that can be arranged. Anything else?"

"How about tonight . . . you stay in _my_ bed?"

It feels like a big deal that he's asking this, and when you think about it for a second, it _is_ a big deal. It's not just the place where things sort of derailed, it's _Sam's bed_. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that." Then you surprise both of you again when you pull his ear closer to your mouth to whisper. "I'd like to see that sexy blue suit of yours in a pile on _your floor_."

Sam gives your ass a good squeeze. "Your dress will go perfectly on _my floor_ with my suit and tie."

Your lips find his again, and you pull apart minutes later with effort, both of you panting hard again.

You find your voice first. "OK, I'm going to go clean up, and I'll see you tonight. To clarify, I am going to avoid you until then, so we actually make it to the date."

Sam nods. "Likewise. I have a feeling that if tonight is anything like last night, it'll be the last time we leave the bunker for anything other than a hunt for awhile." _Don't touch her. If you touch her after talking about sex, you will have it here and now, and you still need to buy condoms._

You both start to take a step towards each other, but then take another back like you're both on tethers, straining to snap, trying to hold out until your date.

 _If I touch him, we're not leaving this bunker starting now. After everything, it would be nice to prove we can have a night out that doesn't end in some sort of disaster or confrontation._ You're closest to the door, so you head out first. You stop when you hear him call after you.

Sam comes up just behind you, leaning down to whisper in your ear and unable to resist at least grabbing your ass again. "____?"

"Yeah?" You practically moan. _He's right. We're never leaving the bunker again._

"There's one more thing I want you to do for me."

"Uh huh?"

"I realize how insatiable you are now, but . . . don't come again today without me."

Your legs wobble, but you manage to reply. "You too."

Sam gives your ass a smack, and you give him a wink over your shoulder as you scurry off.

* * *

While you shower, you replay your flirtation with Sam in the kitchen and then think back to that first night in the bar:

 

> _Sam put his drink on the table, led you behind it, turned his back to the bar, and lifted his shirt a little with one hand. Your eyes were so transfixed by the 'V' lines of muscle and the dark hairs leading down into Sam's pants that it took a minute before you realized that his other hand was carefully lowering his zipper, showing you his green briefs that were nicely offset by the words "lucky you" in gold lettering front and center. As all the blood rushed out of your brain, you dimly wondered if Sam heard your panties hit the floor about the time his zipper reached the end of the metal teeth. He was very **obviously** keeping any real glimpse of anything **under** the briefs concealed, but you could still see the outline of some temptingly hard flesh under the fabric, pressing Sam's fly towards you. With great effort, you pried your eyes away from his crotch to his face where his mouth was curved in a triumphant, mischievous smile._
> 
> _You looked up at Sam like you've never quite seen him properly before. You were practically drooling by this point. Whatever game Sam wanted to play, you were **in**. You gulped a few times, trying to resuscitate your tongue. "Well damn. So what's my penance? Shots? Spankings? Both? If you were wearing a kilt, I could inspect it. I'm certified."_
> 
> _Sam lowered his voice, his mouth was near your ear again. “You now owe me your pot of gold." He leaned in to your body while you stood there, paralyzed. He slowly rezipped his pants, and you could hear every click of metal teeth like they movement was vibrating against your panties. You’d never seen Sam flirt this hard . . . ever. It was dizzying. When his pants were closed back up, he put his hands on your hips, keeping you close . . . as if you were going anywhere. "Well, how about it?” He whispered, Sam’s mouth close enough to you that you could feel his breath on your neck and imagine his tongue tracing your ear, but just far enough that you never lost sight of that cocky smile. “I'll let you fondle my lucky charms if you let me finger your pot of gold."_
> 
> _It felt like you were on fire. When did Sam start talking like that?! You were fairly impressed with yourself when you managed a playful reply in spite of his efforts. "Now who's making stuff up?"_
> 
> _“You dare to question the rules of_ **Blarney** _?” His face was a little closer now._
> 
> _“I dare anything.” You moved your face closer._
> 
> _“Then I call_ **Double Barney** _.” Closer._
> 
> _“Does that mean I can get my hands your shillelagh as well?” Closer._
> 
> _"I think that can be arranged.”_
> 
> _You weren't sure which one of you leaned in to close the gap, but suddenly the space between you was gone and all you could taste or feel or smell was **Sam**. His soft lips, were firm and hot against your mouth, his tongue, eased between your lips, tasted, explored, slid over your tongue until you moaned into his mouth, hands combed into his hair, and over his waist, fingering the flannel-covered muscle. You couldn’t hear anything outside your mingled panting. The intoxicating scent of sandalwood and pine filled your pores, drowning you. You could feel Sam’s hand, grab your ass and pull you closer while his other hand cupped your face, while his thumb brushed over your jaw, deepening the contact._

When you get out of the shower and dry off with shaky hands, you send off a text to Sam:

You: Managed to behave myself in shower. Was most difficult.

Sam: likewise

You: Wear your Lucky You underwear tonight

Sam: done

* * *

  
♪ _I Want You to Want Me_ by Cheap Trick♪

_♪I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'd love you to love me. I'm begging you to beg me. I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'd love you to love me. I'll shine up the old brown shoes, put on a brand new shirt. I'll get home early from work if you say that you love me. Didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you crying? Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you crying? Feeling all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dying Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you crying? I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'd love you to love me. I'm begging you to beg me. I want you to want me. ♪_

_ _

While you finish getting dressed, Sam comes back from his errand, gets dressed himself, makes some finishing touches to his room, and still manages to get to the library in time to see you make an entrance. He's perched on the corner of the map table, waiting, watching. It's Sam's turn to feel nervous. He hears your shoes when you start to come down the hallway, sees you come out of the hallway and into the room. He can see that aside from a slightly more sultry tone to your make up and the addition of some simple, elegant garnet jewelry, you look as lovely and put together as you do when you're impersonating an FBI officer for a hunt, which suits his fantasy, but is also oddly calming.

You can see it on his face, the way Sam looks a little unsure of himself, the adorable too-big-for-his-body look he gets when he's nervous. The ink blue suit and red tie are perfect, and seeing him in it, you can almost imagine that you're about to go on a case. When you're about four feet away, you give Sam a saucy smirk. "Agent."

Sam smirks back. "Agent."

"Dinner first?"

"Sounds good." He offers his arm to you. "Let's go."

You take his arm and let him lead you to the garage. "Did you remember my request?"

"Yes, _both_ of them. Did you remember mine?"

"Yes, with difficulty."

Sam looks down at you with a sardonic smile. "I promise, it wasn't any easier for me. We're all set for later too. I stopped by a drugstore while you were getting ready."

"I was just about to ask, because mine all had to get pitched." You smile. _Do we have to go out? Isn't there food here, somewhere? Can't we just have Dean bring us some takeout and have sex all evening? No, we decided to go out, have a do-over, be normal people._

"Lucky you thought ahead." _Because otherwise, at some inopportune moment later tonight, I would be desperately begging Cas to boop out and get condoms while I keep you otherwise occupied._

Sam borrows the Impala and drives you both to the bar, sneaking little glances at you and your dress. "You know, I think that dress is what pushed me to go after you at the restaurant the other night. I suddenly couldn't stand the idea of anyone else going out with you in that dress until we finished that talk about us."

You just glow beside him. "Oh, yeah?" The idea of Sam feeling jealous about you, just sends you through another stratosphere of happiness.

"Yeah. _Every time_ you wear it on a hunt, it's very distracting."

You bask further in the thought of Sam fantasizing about you in your dress. "I find that suit pretty distracting too."

"Is that so?"

"The first time I saw you in it . . . I just about forgot all my rules about . . . I suppose the polite way of saying it would be: becoming _involved_ with my hunting partners." You look away uncomfortably, biting the corner of your lip.

He tilts his head to the side. "I'm curious as to how you would normally put that."

"You'll _stay_ curious about that tonight." You press your lips together.

"Fine. I'll just get Garth to tell me. I bet he knows."

You roll your eyes. "He does, but it's crass. I wouldn't want you to think . . . I don't want you to feel objectified by it."

He snorts. "If that was your attempt to convince me to leave it alone, it was terrible. Now, I'm _really_ curious."

"I'll just tell Garth to keep his mouth shut. I owe him a call anyway."

"What about?"

"I talked to Garth yesterday about things with us. He gave me some good advice."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?"

"He told me I needed to prove myself to you if I wanted to fix things."

Sam reaches across the seat to take your hand. "He _did_ give you good advice."

Thinking about Garth reminds you that there's something you need to clear up with Sam where Garth is concerned. You run your thumb over his knuckles. "Sam? You know I only hunted with Garth again because I wanted to make sure I wasn't going to put you guys in danger with my shit, right?"

"Really?"

"Really. Garth hunted with me before when I was barely holding it together. He just had a basic salt and burn, last month, and he and I both knew he didn't _really_ need my help, so I wasn't putting him in danger either. That night in the motel when . . . when you told me I had to let you in . . . the night you said something about me hunting with Garth . . ."

 Sam's eyes widen in remorse. "I'm _so_ sorry I said that . . . I was just-"

You squeeze his hand, interrupting him. "You were _right_."

Sam, feels panic rise up. _Right about what? You leaving to hunt with Garth?_ "What? No, I-"

You squeeze his hand again. "You were _right_ to _say it._ I wasn't being fair to you, and I had _no idea_ how much our friendship meant to you, how much _I_ meant to you until those two nights. And even then . . . apparently, I underestimated how much those things meant until two nights ago. I'm sorry things got that far before I could tell you what was going on with me . . . what _you_ meant to me."

"It means a lot; _you_ mean a lot. That's why I was fighting so hard to get back to where we were. I'm still sorry I said things the way I did, but pretending we were fine wasn't working, and then Crowley . . . he just set me off."

You kiss the back of his hand, soothingly. "I know. It's OK.” And you mean that, because however much those conversations hurt, they got you _here_ with Sam.

Sam pauses at a stoplight to pull your hand to his lips and kiss it in return. He holds your eyes long enough to give you a smile you feel all the way from your nose to your toes. When the light changes, he turns his attention back to the road ahead.

Sam drives past a neon sign for a dive bar that reminds him of one from what he now thinks of as "the summer of silence." He knows he still has a few things to clear up with you too. "You know, I ran into Crowley over the summer on another case."

You growl a little. "Yeah? What did that slimy bastard have to say?"

Sam grins at your protective reaction; it eases the part of him that is nervous about telling this story. "He was . . . being _Crowley_ . . . talking shit about you not hunting with us, among other things."

He doesn't elaborate, but you won't let it go so easily -not when it _clearly_ still upsets him. He parks the car, and you both walk into the bar, Sam keeping a hand in the small of your back. Once inside, he grabs a table, and you both order dinner.

* * *

You sip your drink, while you study the tension in Sam's shoulders, see the way he adjusts the weight on them. You know there's more about Sam's encounter with Crowley that he's _not_ saying. You take his hand, waiting until he meets your eyes to speak. "Hey, Sam? Let's play a new game, a game that I think will help us get past some last bits of ugliness, so we can enjoy our evening fully."

"What game is that?" Sam narrows his eyes, teasingly suspicious.

"The game is called: _What Lies Did Crowley Tell_? If we lay it all out, he can't use that shit to mess with us."

Sam lets out a deep breath. "Fair point. I guess you want to know the rest of the story I started in the car."

"Yes, please."

Sam takes a swallow of his drink. "OK. So, last summer . . . I was on a hunt with Dean and Cas, and we were waiting for Crowley. It was right after you gave me that note telling me you weren't avoiding me because of _me_. I wasn't in a good place with it. I was drunk and trying to figure it out. Cas suggested you were trying to figure out how you felt or what you wanted to do about it. I'd decided you changed your mind about me and wanted out, but you didn't know how to tell me. Or maybe I did something, triggered something for you, and you didn't want me anymore."

You kiss the scars on the back of his hand. "Oh, Sam . . ."

Sam can tell you're about to start apologizing and cuts you off. "We play this game, and we need to agree to hold off on our apologies and just sort through the lies, OK?"

You bite your lip. "OK."

Sam continues, keeping his eyes on your hands, so he can focus on the story, knowing that if he looks into your eyes -brimming with a need to soothe him- he'll never get it all out. "Crowley suggested that you lost interest because I didn't 'put out,' that you just wanted to . . . use me for sex, and I was 'clearly too much complication' for that."

You squeeze his hand, forcing him to look up. "You _are_ too much complication for that." You wink at him. "I guess I'll have to keep you around for that sexy mind of yours."

"Sounds good to me." Sam grins, squeezing your hand back. "Anyway, he said you were avoiding me because you were looking for _someone_ or _something_ else to fill that need . . . like Dean."

You recoil in your chair. "Ugh, _no_. Sorry. I don't mean to cringe; he's not repulsive. Dean's great, but I don't want to get smote. Plus, I couldn't . . . anyway. It's just there's no way I could ever settle for someone else, when I was completely hung up on you. And after we . . . _were together_ . . . I couldn't see anyone else that way."

Sam lets himself meet your eyes for a moment. "Me either, total tunnel vision."

"Anything else that limey bastard might use as future ammo?"

Sam shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Uh, well, he suggested Cas use you for a vessel, so he and Dean could . . ."

Your eyes widen as you visualize that concept: the idea of _your friend_ , living in _your body_ to have sex with _the brother_ of _the guy you want_. "Wow. _That's_ a disturbing idea. Don't get me wrong, best wishes to whatever is going on there, but I don't want Cas to _live_ _inside_ _me_. That's _a lot_ closer than I need us to be."

"I can't say I'm too keen on the idea of anyone else inside you either." Sam growls. He freezes realizing what he just said.

You snort with laughter. "I think that's more than fair, Sam. So, um . . . what did you mean by me using _something_ else to 'fill that need?'" You emphasis the last phrase with as much innuendo as possible, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam blushes. After everything, it's hard to believe he blushes, but it's both heart and panty melting. "You know . . . like a vibrator."

" _Oh_ . . . well that's another matter. I may have helped shore up Duracell's stock this summer."

Sam manages a smile. "Well, Crowley got that part right."

You shake your head, making faces. "I'm not even going to let myself think about that vermin contemplating me and my sex toys. Nope. Not going there."

Sam shudders. "Me either." Then Sam flashes you a cocky smile. "So, you tried to replace me with plastic and batteries?"

"If it helps, I thought of you while I used them."

"How'd that work out for you?" Sam runs his index finger down the length of yours, drawing patterns on your palm before moving it back up the next finger and so on.

You raise your eyebrows. "Could've done worse. I had to make do with fantasy and memory. I'd say it worked out well enough."

"Oh I don't know . . . you were pretty insatiable last night . . . seemed pretty pent up . . . I'd say you need a more _personal touch_."

"As long as it's _yours_."

Then he surprises you by leaning over to whisper in your ear. "Maybe next time you want to play with them, I can lend you a hand?"

"What if I want to use them on _you_?"

Sam raises an eyebrow. "We'll come back to that later, but now it's your turn."

You squirm eagerly beside him. _Well, **that** was unexpected. This is going to be the start of something fantastic.  _ "Oh, we'll come back to it, don't you worry. That's something to save for a fifth date . . . or the next hunt." You grin fiendishly, trying not to get stuck on imagining all the naughty possibilities that seem to be opening up . . . so to speak. "OK, so when we ran into him on that last hunt after the kamara . . . well, you heard Crowley's dig about you being in the 'friend zone.' _That_ was an _enormous_ load of crap."

"Yeah?" He's fishing; he knows that, but it'll take a while before he believes all this too.

You turn Sam's hand over and start tracing patterns into his palm. "You were _never_ _really_ in the 'friend zone.' Castiel probably knows better than most, I tried . . . I tried like my life depended on it to put you there, but I couldn't . . . not _really_. I _always_ felt chemistry with you. I might have fought acting on it for a long time, and I went back and forth about what I wanted to _do_ about it, but it was _always_ there for me."

Sam’s middle finger moves against yours while you keep touching his palm. He's a little rattled by how easy it is between the two of you right now, by how calm he feels. "It was always there for me too, but it was hard to tell how you felt for a long time."

"I know it was." You swallow the regret attached to those words. _Sam said to can apologies while we talk this out._ "OK, so back to Crowley. He said you didn't sleep with me because you weren't sure how you felt about me."

"I didn't sleep with you because I _was sure_ how I felt about you, because _you matter_ ," Sam corrects. " _And_ because I wanted to remember everything _when_ we do. He told me you were essentially stringing me along to use me as needed." He cracks a smile. "After all, your synthetic man-toys weren't _taking care of your needs_."

You snicker. "Nope. I actually wanted you around because you're important to me, because _you matter too_. The fact that you also happen to be such a creative, kinky scoundrel of seduction is just a bonus."

"Scoundrel of seduction," Sam mutters, flushing again. "You seem to be the only one that really brings that out."

"I think I like that I'm the only one who . . . brings _that_ out for you." You realize the alternate meaning in what you said and start laughing. "Wow. We can't stop, can we?"

Sam grins. "Well, at least we know we both have the same thing on the brain."

"True. So, I guess the last bit of 'Crowley crap' is what he said at the end of the hunt."

"I think so."

 

> _"You know I'm surprised at you, Twilight Sparkle. You've been friends with Moose, here, for how long? This lovely giant would throw himself in front of you to protect you in a heartbeat, that much is crystal clear even to me. However, to the outside observer, it seems like, where it counts, you still don't trust **him** much more than you trust **me**."_
> 
> _Your eyes widened. **He doesn't know. Crowley doesn't know. He's just speculating. Don't give him ammo.** "What the hell are you talking about, Crowley?"_
> 
> _"I'm something of a connoisseur of secrets, luv, and you, my dear, reek of them. Not anything dark enough for my tastes, but potent all the same."_
> 
> _"What secrets?" The words were out of Sam's mouth before he could stop them. He knew better than to help Crowley play his games, but for an instant, Sam's need to know was stronger than his better judgment._
> 
> _"I imagine it's the same old story: abandonment issues, trust issues . . . you can relate, Moose. Tell you what, luv, come work for me, no soul exchange, just **work** for me, and I'll make sure you're never alone again. I could use a personal assistant topside to see to certain details . . .  **certain needs**." Sam moved to lunge at Crowley, but Crowley froze him in place with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure I can even find you a suitable companion, someone more manageable than Moose, here. I'll even let you pick the body."_
> 
> _"No." It wasn't loud, but it was all you could do while you glared through threatening tears._
> 
> _"You think you **matter**  to them? To  **Sam**? Why? Because you've spent  **a year and a half with them**? That means  **nothing**. You're **allowed**  to stay with them because you **serve their needs** , intellectual or otherwise,  **nothing more**. They'll tell you anything they need to keep you working for them because you're  **an** **asset**. They'll use you up until they decide you're more trouble than you're worth and toss you aside without a second thought because  **they can** , because they think they have some divine mission that makes people like you  . . .  **expendable**. You stay with them . . . it's just a matter of time before they leave you behind . . . and that's **best case** scenario. Worst case: you're dead. There's  **always another woman somewhere dying to be their** **tool**."_
> 
> _You closed your eyes and shook your head. "No. They don't use people. You do."_
> 
> _"No? **They** might even believe that, but some part of you already knows that I'm telling the truth, or you wouldn't be so afraid of it. Someday, maybe a week or a month, or even a year from now they'll sit you down and tell you how it's best for you to be anywhere but where they are, and you'll never see them again. If you're lucky, they'll have your angel friend neuralize your memory MiB style first."_
> 
> _Your eyes shot open at that. The only thing that would be worse than losing Sam would be forgetting him._
> 
> _"Well, I should be going. Remember what I said, poppet. If you ever want to be someone else's adventuring librarian, give me a chant . . . **I'd come for you**."_

You huff out a breath, rough with the edge of remembered pain. "I don't know if Crowley was honest about that job offer, but he was right about some of my issues: trust, abandonment, whatever."

Sam's voice is a few shades rougher when he speaks. "I have a few of those too, but the rest of what he said . . . that's _all lies_. You know that right?"

You nod, not really looking at Sam. You're back to watching your finger sketch patterns on Sam's hand. "I do."

Sam takes your hand in both of his, stopping you from tracing over his skin, because something in your voice says that you _want_ to believe what you're saying  -what _he's_ saying- but you don't, not fully. "Dean, Cas, Kevin, Charlie, me, we need you around because . . . you're _you_. And we _want_ you to _stay_ , not because you're a valuable asset, though you _are_ , but because you're part of the team. You're not expendable; _you're essential_ , and the best place for you to be is _right here_ with us. I know what I said about you hunting with Garth, but the truth is: I can't imagine hunting without you anymore. I don't want to be just your friend, but if that's all you wanted, I'd satisfy myself with that as best I can, just to keep you with us and because just having you around to talk to is valuable to me regardless."

Your other hand comes up to hold his, while emotion swamps you. "Sam . . . " You consider telling him how you feel, but it seems silly to just parrot his speech back to him. "I agree completely, but I'm glad that's not what _either of us_ want." You reach your foot out to rub it against Sam's calf.

"Me too." He smiles at you and leans over the table, to give you a kiss.

The waiter arriving with your dinner interrupts, and you and Sam pull back, smiling good-naturedly.

You take a bite of your food. "Well, I'll say this much for Crowley: at least he got us talking."

"He did." Sam takes a bite of his dinner. "It's amazing how much can change in a day."

"Or two." You release his hand, so you can work on eating your dinner. After a few quiet minutes of eating, a question comes to you. "Hey, Sam, what would you have done if I hadn't made a move at the bar?"

Sam swallows from his glass, thinking back. "I'd actually been trying to make a move before that night, but we never seemed to be alone. I figured I'd try the next time we were up late watching a movie or something. It was hard to find a time when we weren't working a case, and it was just the two of us."

You stare at your plate, guiltily. "Well . . . _that_ wasn't a coincidence. I was still being pretty conscientious about not being alone with you back then. I tried to keep things platonic for a _long_ time."

Sam nudges your foot playfully with his foot. "So I've gathered. I guess the ball was always in your court, then."

You rub back against his foot, slyly. "Speaking of _balls_ . . . "

Sam just raises an eyebrow.

"Wanna rack 'em up before it gets too crowded in here?"

Sam chuckles, swallowing another mouthful while managing not to choke. "Absolutely. After we finish our meal, I'll grab us a couple more beers, while you grab us a table."

♪ _U & UR Hand_ by P!nk♪

♪ _Check it out, going out on the late night. Looking tight, feeling nice. It's a cock fight. I can tell, I just know that it's going down tonight. At the door we don't wait cause we know them. At the bar six shots, just beginning. That's when dickhead put his hands on me, but you see . . . I'm not here for your entertainment. You don't really want to mess with me tonight. Just stop and take a second, I was fine before you walked into my life. 'Cause you know it's over before it began. Keep your drink, just give me the money. It's just you and your hand tonight._ _♪_

About fifteen minutes later, you blow Sam a kiss and head off to the other side of the bar, while he orders drinks. It's a good thing too, because the bar's started to fill up with kids from a local community college, so you grab the last table. It also happens to be the one you and Sam used months ago, which tickles you a little. You start racking up the balls, pulling them to one side of the table in a triangle with your forearms and then putting the rack over them. You take a minute to adjust the distribution of stripes and solids in the rack and see a couple guys come up on the other side of the table.

One of them leans over the table, leering at you while giving you a strong whiff of the cologne he bathed in. "Hey, sugar tits. Looks like you're a few more players short of a game. How about we help you out?"

"How about you buzz off, limp dick? By the way, if you shower now and then, you wouldn't have to dip yourself in _eau de jackass_ before crawling out of your cave. I'm waiting on a friend."

You're just chalking up your cue stick, when you feel another one of them come up behind you and grab your ass while he leans beside your ear. "You sure got a smart mouth on you, don'tcha? Come on, sweet cheeks, don't be like that. We can play with your friend too. How about we get you both some drinks?"

 _♪Midnight; I'm drunk. I don't give a fuck. Wanna dance by myself; guess you're outta luck. Don't touch. Back up. I'm not the one. Buh bye. Listen up it's just not happening. You can say what you want to your boyfriends. Just let me have my fun tonight. Aiight. I'm not here for your entertainment. You don't really want to mess with me tonight. Just stop and take a second. I was fine before you walked into my life. 'Cause you know it's over before it began. Keep your drink, just give me the money. It's just you and your hand tonight._ _♪_

Your cue stick, resting loosely under your arm while you chalked it, swings back and knocks him between his legs with the bottom of the stick. While he doubles over your back, you hit him on the head with the other end, leaving a blue streak on his cheek from the chalk on the end of your stick. Before he can react, you shove him back with the butt end of the stick and your elbow. When you turn, you bring the stick up like a quarterstaff in both hands and shove him back further, scanning around to fend off his buddy.

_♪Break, break, break it down: in the corner with your boys you bet 'em five bucks. You'd get the girl that just walked in, but she thinks you suck. We didn't get all dressed up just for you to see, so quit spilling your drinks on me, yeah. You know who you are: High fivin', talking shit, but you're going home alone arentcha? I'm not here for your entertainment. You don't really want to mess with me tonight. Just stop and take a second. I was fine before you walked into my life. 'Cause you know it's over before it began. Keep your drink, just give me the money. It's just you and your hand tonight.♪_

_ _

Then, you see that Sam is keeping his buddy from jumping in on the fight. You hold the stick in front of you menacingly, pointing at his chest. "You know what, jackass, why don't you and _your friend_ buy me and _my friend_ a couple shots of bourbon, so I can forget all about your rudeness and assault before you lose something more important than your pride?"

"Like some teeth . . . or a limb," Sam growls, shoving the second guy away. Both guys move away from the table together, muttering and glaring.

Sam moves over to you in a few long strides. He wants to hold you, protect you, but he can see the fight lingering in your eyes. Remembering how you were with dragon sickness, he lets you take a minute. "Well, those jackasses will think twice before they pull that shit again."

"They better bring me that fucking drink," you snarl, tracking them as they make their way to the bar.

"I'll check on it. Why don't you take a minute and freshen up. I'll be here."

You squeeze his hand. You're not ready to do more than that yet. "Thanks, Sam." You go to the bathroom, and after adjusting your underwear, you wash your hands and then run your cool hands over your neck, feeling refreshed. You head back out before Sam worries.

When you come back out, the boys are gone, but there are two shots on the table waiting. Sam picks one up for himself and hands one to you. "They would have apologized too, but they had somewhere to be."

You smile at him, relieved they're gone. You might be able to handle yourself, but tonight, you don't want to be edgy about things like that. "Good. I've had enough distraction from you." You shoot back the bourbon and let Jim Bean wash off some of your anger as you swallow.

Sam takes the empty shot glasses and sets them on a nearby table, then he pulls you into a hug, his hands rubbing over your arms and back. "I know you can take care of yourself, clearly, but I'm sorry you had to."

You shrug. "Assholes." You let your arms come up Sam's shirt, wanting to hold him, but not wanting to look weak like some scared little female clinging to the big, strong man. You whisper into Sam's ear, "Thank you for getting rid of them. Between you and me, I'm really glad they're gone. I've reached my limit on strangers grabbing my ass this month."

Sam kisses you lightly. "What about someone you know? Someone you like?"

You smirk at him. "Well, that's another matter entirely. Wanna make sure my ass is all right?"

Taking it for the invitation it is, Sam runs his hands further down your back, stroking over your hips and ass possessively. "Seems all right, but I'll need to do a more _thorough_ inspection when we get back home."

"You will." You agree. _Home; home with Sam._

Sam remembers what you said about not wanting to seem weak when you were suffering from dragon sickness a few days ago, so he leans down to whisper the one question he's wanted to ask since he looked over and saw those douche bags touching you. "Are you OK?"

You nod, releasing your hold on him and taking a step back, shaking your hands like they have water on them. "Yeah, I'm OK. I just wanted a night off, you know?"

He wants to pull you back to him, but Sam settles for running a hand down your arm, trying to reassure you. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop them."

You start to pace, the irritation rising in you again. "You shouldn't have to stop anyone. It's one thing when we're fighting people that are missing some soul, but these guys were just . . . vulgar and disrespectful." You turn to face Sam, eyes hot with exasperation. "You're right, if you had been with me, they would _never_ have tried it, but I shouldn't need to follow you like a fucking puppy to make sure guys don't do that."

Sam moves cautiously, closing the distance again. "You certainly don't need me to protect you, but I like to anyway." He gives you a careful smile.

You see Sam's smile, feel the way he's trying to give you what you need and some of the tension inside you eases away, letting you smile back at him. "I like you protecting me too." You turn back to Sam, pulling him back to you by his lapels. "We seem to keep getting into bar fights where I'm getting assaulted near a pool table, and then we have to kick some ass."

Sam carefully brushes your hair way from your face. "On the plus side, I think the only person with ribs out this time, is that guy that grabbed your ass."

You furrow your brow, confused. "I don't think I hit him hard enough there."

It's Sam's turn to shrug. "I'm pretty sure _I did_ after I escorted them outside for a lesson in civility."

You smile at him, unexpectedly grateful for Sam's gallantry. _He defended my honor without making me look or feel helpless. He is getting **so** lucky tonight. _ "Awww, Sam. _My hero._ I have to say, I know my ribs are fine, but," you lean up to whisper into his ear again, "I wouldn't mind _you_ laying me out on this pool table."

Sam makes a muffled groan, loosely wrapping his arms around you, sure now that you won't push him away. "You have no idea how much that messed with me, fixing your ribs. Your instructions really lent themselves to being taken out of context."

You have a wicked glint in your eyes when you run your fingers possessively over his tie, lightly tugging him closer. "Which part? The part where you had to pop them back in? Or . . . _the view_?"

Sam leans forward and turns you both with his hips, boxing you against the table with his arms, talking low enough so _only you_ could hear him. "I'm not sure I can pick just one. I mean, there was the part where I had to tap you just under your breasts ... when I wanted to  _feel_ them in my hands. I wanted to _feel_ you up and bend you over the table. Not to mention the part where you were talking like we were in a porno. Then there was the part where I wanted to feel you up on that table and bend you over it."

You rub into him, running your hands over his chest, lingering on the buttons. "I like the sound of _all_ of that. Maybe we should get a pool table for the bunker."

Sam's breaths start to come faster. "Maybe. You want to go home and let me finish checking you over?"

You bite your lip, smiling up at him, teasingly. "Not just yet; I want to play some damn pool, and forget those scumbags first."

 _♪Get Lucky_ (feat. Pharrell Williams  & Nile Rodgers) by Daft Punk♪

 _♪_ _Like the legend of the Phoenix, all ends with beginnings. What keeps the planets spinning, the force from the beginning. Look, we've come too far to give up who we are, so let's raise the bar and our cups to the stars. She's up all night to the sun. I'm up all night to get some. She's up all night for good fun. I'm up all night to get lucky. We're up all night to the sun. We're up all night to get some. We're up all night for good fun. We're up all night to get lucky. The present has no ribbon. Your gift keeps on giving. What is this I'm feeling? If you wanna leave I'm with it. We've come too far to give up who we are, so let's raise the bar and our cups to the stars. She's up all night to the sun. I'm up all night to get some. She's up all night for good fun. I'm up all night to get lucky. We're up all night to the sun. We're up all night to get some. We're up all night for good fun. We're up all night to get lucky.♪_

"OK then. You want to break?" Sam takes his jacket off and puts it aside with yours on a nearby chair.

"Absolutely." You try not to get too distracted by Sam losing a layer. "If we had one of these at the bunker, we'd be playing _strip_ pool right now."

Sam smirks, taking a sip of his beer. "We really should look into that."

"We should."

While you scatter the balls across the felt, Sam chalks his cue. "I see you haven't forgotten our last lesson."

You watch two solids sink into the corners. "Well, I had an excellent teacher."

"I remember that you weren't as rusty as you thought."

You wink at him, and line up a second shot and miss. "Well, I _may_ have been looking for an excuse to get you to put your hands on me."

"I thought _you_ were trying to keep things simple because _you_ thought _I_ wanted things to move slower?"

You watch Sam line up a shot "I may have been working against _myself_ too. You’re pretty hard to resist, Agent Rogers.”

“So far, you’ve been doing pretty well resisting, Agent Carter.” Sam snorts, sinking the ball easily.

Your skin warms at his use of your alias. “Not lately. I’ve already broken all my rules for you.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, circling the table. “Oh?”

“Yup. I was going to abstain from men, or at least men I’d spend more than a night with.”

Sam scratches his shot. “For how long?”

You start scanning the table, then sink four more. “Indefinitely. I was just going to focus on the job, save the world, you know, normal, easy stuff.” 

“I see." Sam re-chalks his cue. "That was my plan too.”

You sink another ball, grinning at him. “How’d that go?”

“Well enough . . . until you moved in.” Sam watches you sink the 8 ball, finishing the first round.

You waggle your ass in his direction, starting to rack up the balls. “Oh, yeah? Hey, want to make this next game more interesting?”

He raises an eyebrow. “More interesting than strip pool?”

“We can play to see which one of us breaks down to pay the tab first, so we can go home.” _And have lots and lots of sex._

Sam starts to stand up, looking towards the bar implying he intends to pay _immediately_. “What does the last person to crack get?”

You lean over the table, crooking your finger for him to do the same, so he can hear you. “They get to be on top first.”

As Sam nearly hits his head on the lamp over the table, he thinks about throwing the game right then, because at this point, _who cares_ about who's on top first. However, you're _clearly_ having fun, and he wants you thinking about something that's the _exact opposite_ of talking about Crowley or men groping you. He wants you to be able to remember having fun with him on a date without things ending with a fight or a hangover.

Sam circles the table in a few long strides. “Just so I understand the rules: we playing fair? . . . Or," Sam leans down to place a lingering kiss just under your ear, and then he drags his lips, tongue, and teeth over your earlobe, " _Dirty_?"

You shiver, but not to be outdone, you take a finger and run it through a line of sweat on his neck, down to where it starts to disappear into his shirt. "I'm thinking . . . _dirty_ " You lean closer and swirl your tongue around your finger, licking away his musky sweat, watching Sam's eyes go dark. "I'm pretty curious to see how many games we get through before we call it a night."

Sam loosens his tie. "I guess we'll find out."

You pull out your high shine lip gloss and slick it over your mouth, making your lips look wet and inviting.

Sam watches, and his mouth falls open. "I think _that_ qualifies as _cheating_."

You blow him a kiss. "You wanted to play dirty, Agent."

"You sure _look_ dirty with your mouth like that." He mutters.

You take a minute to drink some of your beer, while Sam resets the table amidst the distraction that is now your mouth. "You know what I told myself before St. Patty's Day?"

Sam starts pulling balls out of the pockets. "What is the easiest way to get my hands on Sam's ass?"

"Ooh ye-ah . . . OK, that _pressing_ question -so to speak- was definitely in there. I _did_ make up that game pretty much to get my hands on you."

Sam just stops for a minute, staring at you and doing the math. "Wait, _seriously_? You _made up_ a drinking game with elaborate penalties, _and_ convinced an entire bar full of _strangers_ to play, _all_ to get _your_ hands on _my ass_?"

You take another swallow of your drink, nodding shamelessly. "Yup."

Sam sticks his tongue in his cheek. "I'm not sure whether to be flattered or flabbergasted."

You tip your glass in Sam's direction. "I'll give you a hint: only _one_ of those choices will get you laid tonight."

Sam tilts his head in acknowledgement. "Then I better choose wisely."

"You better." You nod. "Anyway, so earlier that day, I told myself that I would not make the rookie mistake of over-thinking things between you and me, no matter what happened."

Sam forces himself not to say something too snarky. "How's that been going for you?" He breaks and scatters the balls, sinking three.

You shrug. "It took a few months, but I think I'm starting to manage it."

Sam snorts. "Uh huh.”

While Sam leans over to make a shot, you see a hint of green peek out from his pants. You run a finger along the thin line of green elastic, letting your finger hook under the material just enough to touch skin and make Sam pop the ball off the table.

You take your time picking up the ball, letting your dress ride up to _just_ under your ass as you bend over. "Sam, I see you remembered to wear green."

Sam's smiling at the view, but there's a dangerous look creeping into his eyes now as he pulls out a ball in penalty. "That's what you asked me to do, right?"

"I figured as long as we were having a wardrobe do over. . ." You catch his eyes and then give him a leering once over.

Sam chuckles. "I take it you liked them, then?"

"I did . . . Sam?"

He sees you chewing on something in your mind, with a look in your eyes that says it probably involves him being naked. "Yeah?"

"I have to ask . . . What was up with you wearing those in the first place? I mean do you have a bunch of random holiday-themed underwear you were saving for a special occasion?"

Sam flushes, answering in awkward bursts of information. "I have a few others . . . Dean . . . dollar store, 'stocking stuffer' crap. He was always trying to get me to 'socialize' more. Anyway, these, I just saw them in my drawer that day when I pulled out pants. I figured they might be lucky. I mean it couldn't hurt, right?"

You nod, like that makes sense, but you're not done with this train of thought. "It was pretty handy, you wearing those _that night_ . . . I mean you didn't know about my game until we got there . . . so it's pretty convenient that you wore those." You're so distracted by this train of thought that your shot goes about six inches wide.

"Ugh, you know . . . they were Saint Patrick's Day themed. I was trying to get in the spirit." Sam lines up his next shot. He's not even sure why he's not telling you _why_ he wore them outright, but he's enjoying watching you piece things together, hoping that when you figure it out, it might convince you of how he's felt all along, better than his words ever could.

You watch Sam sink a two more balls. "Sure, but you didn't use them when I first brought up the game."

Sam just gives you a look that says: _You know **exactly** why I didn't say a thing: I wanted to get my hands on you too._ "I said something when it fit in with my plans."

"HA!"

Your sudden exclamation has Sam popping another ball, but it ends up knocking in one of his balls anyway. "What 'ha'?"

"You had a plan too!"

Sam looks a little sheepish. "It wasn't anything elaborate." Getting distracted by the conversation himself, Sam misses.

You take another shot, make it, and end up sinking a second ball you weren't aiming for in the process. "So, what was your plan then for Saint Patty's Day? I mean, you had no idea what I was up to. You couldn't seem to get me alone in the bunker . . . but you figured if you showed me your green briefs at the bar, I'd just jump into your lap?"

"Well . . . not exactly. I wasn't planning on showing them to you at the bar, but your game took on a life of its own, so I improvised." Sam shrugs, eyeing the table.

You think back to the build up for that kiss. "I'll say . . . damn. What was your _original_ plan?"

"Well, I sent you that shot of whiskey. I figured that would get you to come over, separate you a little from Kevin."

"What about Dean?"

"He'd been bugging me to make a move for ages, so he and Cas were trying to 'fly causal.'"

"What does that mean?" You miss a long bank shot; Sam's turn.

"Dean was trying to stay out of the way _without_ looking like he was trying."

You nod, _finally_ catching the Han Solo reference. "Gotcha. OK, so you got me alone; you bought me my second shot of the night. Then what?"

Sam takes his time, sinking another ball. "Well, I didn't know you had an elaborate game you were going to instigate. I figured I'd pinch your ass, buy you another drink, and see if you wanted to get dinner sometime. I was holding my own until you decided to tell me you like to swallow.”

You scrunch your face, thinking back. “Oh, right . . . Well, I had _finally_ gotten my hands on your ass, that’s where my head was at.”

“And later that was all _literally_ accurate.” Sam finishes the game out, sinking the last of his balls.

“ _Yeah, it was_." You start pulling the balls out and resetting the table, pleased that no one has come over to call dibs on the table after your game yet. _Probably too scared,_ you muse. "Huh, so you were gonna ask me out and then take me back to your room and show me your lucky underwear, huh?”

Sam snorts laughter. "Something like that. Like I said, I didn't have much of a plan. I just wanted to see if you wanted more."

You break, only getting one ball in as you're focus shifts more fully to Sam's story. "Why then? Why _that_ night?"

He thinks back. "Lately, you just seemed like you wanted more. I started noticing little things . . . I'm not even sure it was something specific, just a feeling I kept having when you were around, or when we talked, or you found some new place to eat that you thought I'd like."

You grin. "Yeah . . . once I decided to do _something_ about things between us, I may have started to show a little more favoritism in my suggestions for restaurants . . . movies . . . whatever."

Sam smiles. "Yeah, well, I noticed. I mean not enough that I was _sure_ , but enough that I wanted to take a shot. That night we weren't on a case, so I decided to see if I could seize on an opportunity."

A flash of Sam’s festive St. Patty’s Day briefs framed by denim and long fingers plays in your mind, and you grin up at Sam. “And seize you did.”

Smirking, Sam watches you line up your next shot. “So, is _now_ a good time to bring up all the ‘rampant sexual tension’ from the hunt?”

You snicker. "As good a time as any. I was really surprised that things weren't more awkward to be honest. After _everything,_ I sort of expected someone to at least _ask_ about sleeping arrangements."

Sam looks away, bending down to pick up the chalk for his cue, but he stops midway through the action -there’s something else the two of you need to talk about. "Actually, when you stepped out of the room to shower, I thought about sleeping on the couch."

You're so surprised your ball pops off the table. Sam catches it and resets it on the table, but you don't have the presence of mind to be impressed by his reflexes. You lift your cue stick away from the felt looking at Sam, genuinely puzzled. "What couch?" You think back harder, while Sam sinks a few balls. "You mean that tiny-ass jawa couch?! Why?"

Sam gives you a pained look. "I didn't want to make things worse. I was trying to be considerate of whatever was going on with you. You hadn't been able to spend more than an hour in the same room with me for _months_ and then _only_ if we were researching something. It wasn't ridiculous to think that you might not want to share a bed with me anymore."

It's a fair point, but it hurts, remembering that hunt with what you know now. ". . . Sam. I'm probably going to say this a million more times, but I'm sorry."

Sam shrugs reflexively, trying to make it seem like it was no big deal, but you both know it _was_. "You didn't know where things stood either."

You nod automatically. "What changed your mind?" You nod, your voice flat and distant all of a sudden.

Sam looks down at his feet, toeing the floor with the tip of his shoe, but then make himself look up at you; you _need_ and deserve the truth. "Dean noticed you seemed to be trying to act like things were normal and told me to stop being ridiculous and play along."

Your voice is a little rough, imagining the alternative. "I'm glad he did. I don't think I would have taken that well."

"Me too,” Sam answers honestly, making sure to keep your eyes with his. “Given what you've told me, I'm sure you would have seen it as another rejection, and like Dean said, that would've been your last hunt with us."

"Probably." Your tone is still low, tentative, like it's coming from far away.

"Hey," Sam moves around the table and leans his cue stick against the wall. Hands now free, he steps closer and wraps his arms around you from behind, needing to be near to you after hearing the raw tone of your voice. "You know another way you could think of it, is that I cared about you _so much_ that I was willing to torture myself by cramming myself onto a couch that was _half my size_ for the night to support you the only way I could think of: by giving you your space."

His words do exactly what he hoped and coax a smile out of you. You turn in his arms and hold him back for a minute, letting him reassure you. Then you look up at him, quoting his words from the morning back to him. "I think maybe you're the one who's sort of perfect."

"Let's call it a tie."

You share a soft kiss and go back to the game, but keep closer to each other.

You nudge a laugh out of yourself, trying to lighten the mood again. "Jeez. I can’t believe you were even thinking of sleeping on that couch. Your dick is bigger than that couch.” You eye up Sam's cue stick while he lines up his shot. "You know what Sam? I think your _cue_ is bigger than that tiny couch from our hunt.”

Sam's laughter vibrates beside you, warm and comforting. "Lucky for you that's a _slight_ exaggeration. I don't know about you, but I don't think I have enough lube to get something _that length_ to fit."

You shake your head, grinning. "We were _so_ _ridiculous_ that night in the motel. All I could think about that night was how much I wanted to crawl on top of you."

“All I could think about that night was how much I wanted to just reach over to your side of the bed.” Sam runs his nose along your neck.

"I wish you would have. I had some _very_ vivid dreams about you."

"Oh, yeah? I may have had a few myself."

"I can't believe you bought that crap about lint in your hair when I started playing with it."

"Yeah, well . . . I had just about convinced myself it was all in my head by then." He sees your eyes go uncertain again for a minute. _What is **wrong** with me? Stop bringing up angsty shit . . . _ "But I mean, I didn't entirely believe you, and then that _massage_ you gave me was pretty amazing."

Your mouth curves again for him. "Yeah, well, _obviously_ I enjoyed mine. _Dean_ could _hear_ how much I enjoyed mine . . ."

Sam turns you around again so you can see his grin. "Yeah, you're kind of _loud_ when you 'enjoy' things." He sees you blush and adds, “It’s crazy hot. I think if we uttered one more sentence that night that sounded like we were talking about trading handjobs or oral sex, Dean was going to throw a bottle of lube at us and tell us to have at it." After seeing the slightly shocked and amused look on your face, Sam bends down to take his shot.

"That sounds about right." You watch Sam position himself for his turn. “You know, _you're_ pretty _crazy hot_ when you're working the table over."

Sam sticks his ass out more than he needs to and then slides his hand suggestively over his cue stick. "Oh, yeah? Does it get you thinking about me working _you_ over?"

You chalk your cue stick, making flicking motions with your tongue, just close enough to the stick to catch his attention. "Comparing our last lesson with tonight's, I'm not sure which makes you more irresistible: your instructions, your intentional distractions, or you just playing like a man who knows how to handle a stick . . . _expertly_."

Sam pops the red striped ball he was aiming for off the felt, and it rolls under the table. "I can't tell if you're saying things like that to mess me up or just to clear the air."

While he goes digging under the table to retrieve it, you position yourself to take your shot, strategically placing yourself by his likely exit point. As you line up your chalked cue, Sam's head pops up from under the table, his face just inches away from the maroon fabric stretched tightly over your upper thighs. "Who says it has to be either-or?" You take your shot, swallowing a grin. "What was that you said, ‘power is just controlling the strength you have’?"

Sam's head nearly crashes into the table, but he forces himself to keep his composure. "Something like that." Giving you a taste of your own medicine, he runs his hand up the outside of your thigh and admires his close proximity to you, then says in a voice rough with hunger, "You seem to be pretty skilled at handling that  _big stick_  yourself."

"Thanks," you answer, your own voice breathy as you feel your hands sweat on the cue, while you attempt to gauge your next shot.

"I can think of a few ways to give you some more practice with that." Hearing your voice and seeing what his simple touch is doing to you, he takes advantage of his present position. Still at your feet, Sam tilts his head and blows a long stream of air up your skirt, his breath a caress on your skin.

It's your turn to pop the ball off the table again.

While Sam gives you a smug wink and picks up the ball, you let yourself get mesmerized by his ass. Sam must sense you're watching him, because he takes a while standing back up and when he does, he meets your glazed eyes, knowingly. "You all right there, _Padawan_?"

You shake yourself out of it and give him a smirk. "Just visualizing, _Master Winchester_."

Sam sinks a stripe and then circles around to you, his arms coming around your body as he leans over you to make his shot, pressing his full length against you. Then he whispers in your ear, "What are you visualizing, my Padawan?" When he takes the shot, the pulse of movement presses him into you. He doesn't care that the ball goes wide.

"Something like _this_ , but with less clothes." You twist around fast, keeping your hips lined up with his, so you can look up into his eyes, while he's got you almost laying back on the table. "You know, the last time we were here playing pool, I was thinking about doing shots off of _you_."

"Oh, yeah? Sounds promising. What sort of shots?"

You quirk an eyebrow. "I told Charlie that I'd do shots of vinegar off of you if it meant getting my tongue on your skin."

Sam's hips rub against yours _just so_. "You say things like _that_ , and I continue to care less and less about this game."

You take his cue and spin back, lining up a shot for yourself, sinking it, and then grinding your ass into him until you _both_ groan. "That's probably for the best; I think you're losing."

He huffs out a breath into your hair. "Not from where I'm standing." You are both missing more balls than you’re sinking, and he’d rather be doing other things with you and the table anyway.

Sam lets you up, and you cross the table, about to take another shot, when you realize your heart just isn't in the game anymore. You glance up. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

You lock your eyes onto his, wanting to be sure nothing you're about to say is misunderstood. "You win. I want to go home. I'm done playing."

He understands perfectly and smiles. "Good. I've been done playing for a while now."

Your mind is so focused on him and thinking about what's going to happen when you get back to the bunker that you're puzzled for a moment when Sam reaches out to take something from your hand. You look at your hand and realize you're still holding your cue stick. You both chuckle a moment, wordlessly. Then, Sam takes your stick and puts it with his on the table with your half-finished game. He pays your tab, gets your coats, and then you let Sam wrap an arm around you and guide you out to the car.

* * *

_  
♪Counting Stars by OneRepublic♪_

_♪Lately I've been, I've been losing sleep, dreaming about the things that we could be, but, baby I've been, I've been praying hard. Said no more counting dollars, we'll be counting stars, yeah, we'll be counting stars. I see this life like a swinging vine, swing my heart across the line. In my face is flashing signs, seek it out and ye shall find. Old but I'm not that old. Young but I'm not that bold, and I don't think the world is sold. I'm just doing what we're told.♪_

You quirk a smile as Sam holds your car door for you. "I have to admit Sam, for a minute there, I thought you were going to forfeit the game outright."

"I thought about it." He comes around the car and slides in. "Especially when you put the porn star gloss on."

"Noticed that did ya?" You smirk. "You held out really well. I guess you _really_ want to be on top tonight."

"I admit, given your impatience, there are some advantages to winning, like getting to take my time working you over, but I could tell that you needed to play a little more too."

"It's fun playing when we both know what the score is."

"It is."

"Hey, Sam . . . " You look speculatively at the hood of the car through the windshield and then look Sam over. "Sometime, I'd really like to lay you out on the hood of the Impala . . . just take my time, taking you apart."

Sam clears his throat before uttering a hoarse reply, "I'll see what we can do about that one of these days." Sam shifts in his seat, trying to relieve the pressure from his increasingly too-tight pants. "Remembering our last couple dates and the drive home, I’ll make a deal with you: you sit quietly and behave yourself in all ways between here and the bu- my bed, and I’ll owe you a future favor _and_ give you a quick taste of things to come _right now_." _Whew. Good save; almost said the bunker._

You're impressed, noticing his mid-negotiation addendum. "Huh, you’re getting better at making deals all of a sudden."

"I know the stakes now."

"So, you’re comfortable working under pressure?"

"So it would seem."

"I’m surprised you’re not cashing in your favor with me for this deal."

Sam gives you a sly look. "I have better uses for that, and I think I like us being in debt to each other."

"I think I do too." You hold out your hand. "We have an agreement."

Sam takes your hand and then pulls you across the seat, pinning you underneath him. He slides his mouth over yours, licking his way past your lips while his one hand cups your breast over your dress and the other, still holding your hand, slides between your legs. He keeps your hand right with his, so you can nudge him back if this isn't OK, but all you can think is _more_. You turn your hand away from his to stroke his cock through his pants while your other hand cups his ass, pulling him closer. For a few minutes, everything dissolves into you and Sam desperately moving your lips and hips against each other until Sam comes up off you, panting hard like someone just yanked his leash. Sam helps pull your dress back down, covering you before moving back to his seat. Only then does he notice his pants.

"Fuck. You're so wet . . . I'm wearing some of you."

You grin unapologetically at the visible damp spot on his pants. "I'm pretty sure that wet spot is _not_ all me, which means I'm wearing some of you too." You reach over to rub Sam's leg, affectionately. "You _did_ promise a taste of things to _come_."

He smiles sheepishly. "I aim to _deliver_. Now, _your_ end of the bargain."

You nod, settling in. "I’ll be thinking about you the whole way."

Sam takes a moment to adjust himself. "Same here." He pulls out onto the road, chuckling.

He manages to get you inside the bunker without incident. Mainly, because you both decide to just listen to the radio, not trusting any further conversation to not transform into something erotic.

* * *

_  
♪Sweater Weather_ by The Neighborhood♪

 _♪All I am is a man. I want the world in my hands. I hate the beach, but I stand in California with my toes in the sand. Use the sleeves of my sweater. Let's have an adventure. Head in the clouds, but my gravity's centered. Touch my neck and I'll touch yours. You in those little high-waisted shorts, oh. She knows what I think about, and what I think about. One love, two mouths, one love, one house. No shirt, no blouse. Just us, you find out. Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no. 'Cause it's too cold for you here and now. So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater, and if I may just take your breath away. I don't mind if there's not much to say. Sometimes the silence guides our minds, so move to a place so far away. The goose bumps start to raise the minute that my left hand meets your waist, and then I watch your face. Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love to taste, yeah. These hearts adore. Everyone the other beats hardest for. Inside this place is warm. Outside it starts to pour. Coming down. One love, two mouths. One love, one house. No shirt, no blouse. Just us, you find out. Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no, no, no_ 'cause _it's too cold for you here and now. So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater♪_

Back in the bunker's garage, you and Sam exchange little looks, while you get out of the car and wait for him to slide out and come around. He takes your hand and leans down, giving you a soft kiss, but you're both holding off. He leads you through the bunker, calling out to Dean and Cas, who are nowhere to be seen. Kevin told you earlier that he was staying at Talia's for a few days, so you know he's fine. You're trying to be patient, but Sam seems to be taking _forever_.

 _Finally_ , in the library, you snap, pushing him firmly into one of the columns in the room. "Sam . . . If you are trying to test my patience . . . it's working. If you do not make good on the preview in the next-"

Sam swallows the rest of your threats with a kiss and groans as you grind yourself into him. "Just a little further . . . Come on . . . Back to my room."

Reluctantly, you pull back and let Sam lead you to _his_ room, but once you get there, you pause. There are oversized lanterns in the corners of the room with lit pillar candles, and the effect is equal parts romantic and masculine. Sam shuts the door behind you before he moves past you and puts his iPod on shuffle, playing a selection of songs that are a mix of sexy rock and something deeper. He hands you a bottle of water, and you see he has a few more bottles beside his bed.

"Why Agent Rogers, aren't you the prepared Boy Scout?"

He grins, pleased that you like it. "I took a little time this afternoon to get things set up for us."

"And the candles?"

"I told Cas to light them about an hour after we left."

You nod, sliding off your shoes. You lock eyes with him and take your lip gloss back out of your purse and reapply a fresh, slick coat. Sam's eyes are transfixed by your mouth like a cat observing prey. You can see his breath quicken while you lightly press your lips together, evening out the application. Your expression when you finish clearly insinuates one phrase: _Game on_. "So, Agent? . . . Wanna help me with my zipper?"

You've asked him that questions dozens of times before, but this time, things aren't going to stop. You're both tired of stopping, tired of holding back. Sam's across the room in two strides, cupping your face and pulling you towards him, his lips pressing against yours, his tongue gliding against yours, while his fingers drag your zipper all the way down. Eagerly, he slides the dress off your shoulders. You reach out to start taking off Sam's jacket. It joins your dress on the floor. While Sam takes care of unbuttoning his shirt; you take off his tie. Then you lift up the bottom of his undershirt, helping him remove it along with his dress shirt. Sam works his belt, while you slide to your knees beside the bed and get his pants down to his ankles, tugging them off with his shoes and socks.

Sam looks down at you, watching, naked except for his green "Lucky You" briefs. He cups your face, tilting it up to look up at him. You trace the outline of his cock with a fingertip, then your hands sweep over his hips and behind to grab his perfect, firm ass. You pull him closer, burying your face against him for a moment before pulling back enough to tantalizingly run your nose alongside his cock. "Lucky me _indeed_. You know, your underwear and mine are going to look great together . . . on the floor."

"Then what are you waiting for?" He teases.

"Nothing, just appreciating your _barely-concealed_ weapon, Agent." Taking care not to catch them on _anything_ , you pull his briefs off and down. In one hand, you cup his balls, pumping his hard cock in the other, while you give the head a long, wet kiss.

Sam groans, enjoying the image and feel of your lips, shiny from your recently reapplied lip gloss, wrapped around his cock like he's imagined a thousand times. After indulging both of you for a few minutes, he rubs your cheek. "Feeling _very_ _appreciated_ but..." Sam helps you up from the floor, so you're standing in front of him. "There's plenty of time for that later." He walks you to his bed. "Lay back."

You move onto the comforter, shifting back into his pillows. When he pulls back long enough to take a long, appreciative look at your bra and panties, they happen to be the same gold satin ones you wore for Saint Patrick's Day months before. "Mmmm. Look at all that gold just _waiting_ to be claimed."

Sam licks his way to your chest, unhooking your bra and tossing it onto the pile. Your panties follow as he drags them off your legs. He originally planned on dragging out the foreplay, really driving you crazy, but there's an impatience stirring inside him now; he wants to be inside you before anything else gets in the way. He begins to stroke a thumb over your outer lips, while he starts to leave wet, nipping kisses all over your breasts. When his fingers start to stroke into you, Sam's face comes up. "Mmm, you are _so wet_. All for me?"

You bite your lip nodding, gasping, stroking his hair with your fingers. "All for you, Sam."

Sam starts suckling on one peaked nipple, while he slides a long, thick finger into your slick heat, rubbing gently at your inner walls. Then he adds a second finger and starts to curl them, while he rubs circles against your clit with his thumb. Before you know it, you're coming around his fingers _hard_ , the tension of the evening releasing in a heady rush, your hand carding through his hair, holding his mouth to your breast. Then Sam moves to your other breast, his hand staying busy between your legs. When he hears your soft cries increase in pitch again, he moves his mouth lower to bury his face in between your legs.

You buck and thrash, hands moving desperately, gripping the covers, then Sam's shoulders. What he's doing with his tongue feels _so good_ , but you feel like the foreplay has been going on for  . . . well, nine months. "Sam, baby, you gonna split me open on that massive cock of yours anytime soon?"

Sam gives your pussy a few more lazy, broad licks before moving off and rubbing his face against your thigh. "Like you said . . . it's been awhile . . . for _both_ of us. I just want to make sure I don't hurt you, not because I think you're delicate, but because you are really _incredibly_ tight. I wanna make sure I take enough time to stretch you out. I don't want to hurt you."

"Sam; not my first rodeo here."

Sam snickers. "Not mine either. Just trust me, OK? I have plans to be inside you _plenty_ in the near future. That plan only works if I don't wear you out the first time."

You give a deep sigh, exaggerated further, when Sam sucks on your clit lightly. "Fi-ine. Trust me a few more orgasms like that last one, and I'll be more than ready."

Sam grins, while he works a third finger into you and licks you through a second orgasm before he shifts his body to his bedside table and grabs a condom. Rolling it down over his length, Sam positions himself at your entrance with one hand, while you run a hand over the arm that's bracing him over you. Sam starts to ever so slowly nudge his way into you, both his arms now holding him above you. Your hand moves back into his hair, pulling him down for a kiss, while Sam slides in a little further, taking time to feel you stretch around him, to savor the feeling of getting absorbed. You slide your tongue over his, tasting yourself, while you pour everything this moment means into your kiss, all the hunger you've been reigning in, all the feelings you aren't ready to name yet. Now that you're here, you're glad Sam took the extra time. He feels amazing, but it _has_ been awhile, and it makes it all feel tighter, more intense . . . but you want the rest. “Mmm; massive cock _indeed_. Sam . . . more."

"Easy there; I got you. Damn, you are tight." Sam moans. It feels so incredible having his cock swallowed by your eager pussy, but the squeeze feels so good that if it doesn't ease a little soon, he'll never last. "Just gotta help you relax a little." He reaches down between you, dipping them down into the spot where his cock disappears inside you and rubs some of your slick through his fingers and then over your clit. As his fingers rub over your clit, you moan, your inner walls clenching on him and then relaxing in a burst of pleasure. Sam takes advantage of the moment to finish sliding into you. The moment you can feel his balls brush against your ass, wringing a deep moan out of both of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and anchoring him there, while your mouth fuses to his. Sam relaxes against you a minute, into you, letting you feel more of his weight on top of you. His girth stretches your pussy around him, filling you completely, and it feels delicious for both of you. Your hands are in his hair and running over his skin, greedily. You roll your hips and loosen your thighs, needing more.

Sam starts to move with slow shallow thrusts at first and then longer strokes. He makes sure your lower lips are spread, so each glide of his groin against yours rubs against your clit, _just enough_ , to combine it with the way his cock is stroking your inner walls. You can feel pleasure building in you like a screaming wave of sound. He moves his fingers away to get better leverage again.

While you clutch Sam closer, his hips start to move faster, his kisses getting more urgent and becoming more of a rub of lips and noses than kissing. His breath and yours turn to gasps and pants, while his cock plunges deeper and harder, stretching your pussy, claiming you.You can feel the wave deep inside you, growing, the need to come again with Sam thick and solid inside you, becomes a living, _breathing_ thing. You can hear Sam moaning deeper above you, and you see his eyes locked onto you, watching the bounce of your breasts and taking in the curves of your body –taking in _you._

"You feel so amazing . . ."

“Sam, I need to…” A swivel of his hips cuts your plea short. “I’m so close… Please…”

“Me too.” Sam gasps when your hips press up into him, feeling your core tighten around every inch of his length. “Needed this… _you_ , for-so-long.” He accents his words with three more _amazing_ twists of his hips, making sure he grinds into your clit and brushes the head of his cock into your g-spot.

 “I… _Oh_ …” Sam moves perfectly inside you, stretching you in a way you’ve dreamed about – _wanted_ for so long. “Needed you too. Sam, Sam I -” A snap of Sam’s hips yanks a cry out from somewhere around your sternum, but with roots that go far deeper inside you, as that wave in your core crashes for the second time.

Sam can feel the inner walls of your pussy clench and spasm around his cock as he makes you come again. He groans deeply when he sees your face go blind with pleasure, and his thrusts lose their rhythm as his need consumes him, feeling himself start to fall apart. He's right on the edge, but it's your next words that push him over.

“Sam…” You whisper his name, looking up at him with your eyes so full of emotion and _him_. “I’m _right here_. I need you.” You pull Sam even closer to you, so your lips brush against his, and you whisper, “Come in me.”

Sam _hears_ your words, but it’s more than that, he feels _something_ there aren’t _words_ for, start to shift: like a part of himself that he’s been holding back just wants to lose itself in you, is _finally_ being set free. Feeling your hand wrap around his back, pulling him deeper inside you, _urging_ him – _begging_ him, pressing into the base of his spine hard enough that he can feel your nails, and feels all the need, the hunger, the longing, the fear inside him uncoil and pour into you. Sam thrusts inside you one more time, and his orgasm hits him like a shock wave, tearing a deep shout from his lungs.

He holds onto you, while he rides it out, like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. Giving you a few more slow and fluid pumps of his hips, Sam enjoys what _both of you_ have been craving for so long. Gentle kisses and quickened breaths are exchanged, for just a moment, before he lets himself ease out of you and settles in close beside you.

He takes care of the condom, then pulls you tightly against him, while you both start to doze into a pleasure-haze, both of your hands stroking each other’s skin as unconsciously as breathing. Sam maneuvers you both under his sheets and blankets, and then pulls them up, keeping the chill out.

* * *

  
♪ _Magic_ by Coldplay♪

♪ _Call it magic. Call it true. I call it magic when I'm with you, and I just got broken, broken into two. Still I call it magic, when I'm next to you, and I don't and I don't and I don't and I don't no, I don't it's true. I don't, no, I don't no, I don't, no, I don't want anybody else but you . . . Call it magic. cut me into two and with all your magic I disappear from view, and I can't get over, can't get over you. Still I call it magic, such a precious jewel, and I don't and I don't and I don't and I don't no, I don't it's true. I don't, no, I don't no, I don't, no, I don't want anybody else but you. Want to fall, fall so far. I want to fall, fall so hard, and I call it magic and I call it true. I call it magic, and if you were to ask me after all that we've been through: Still believe in magic? Oh yes, I do, oh yes, I do. Yes, I do. Oh yes, I do. Of course I do._ ♪

A while later, Sam nuzzles into your neck. "Hey."

"Hey." You nuzzle back.

"How you doing?"

"Good. Really good. You?"

"Very." He kisses your neck. "You wanna go to sleep . . . ?"

"I sense an _or_ coming. Is there an _or_?"

Sam takes your hand in his, tracing your fingers with his. "You awake enough for an _or_?"

You roll over, smiling at him where he's curled on his side. "Depends. How athletic an _or_? Because I'm pretty damn comfortable."

He turns your wrist to kiss the pulse point, tracing it with his tongue. "I have an idea that should be pretty relaxed for you, if you're interested."

"Do you, now? I feel like you've been doing a lot of the work already. You sure _you_ have enough energy for your own plan?"

"Oh, _yeah_. I've been saving up for this."

"Very well, _Master_ Winchester, what is your _Master_ Plan?" You give him an exaggerated wink, and Sam rolls his eyes a little.

He rolls his hips against your thighs, and you can feel his hardening cock there, warm, a little damp still, rekindling that ache between your thighs. "Well, first, I need you to get me nice and wet for you."

"Yes, Master Winchester." You slide down slowly, aware of all the places where the pleasant aches are starting on your body. You drag the flat of your tongue slowly over both his nipples on the way down, sucking on them a little, feeling them harden, leaving them wet. Then you move lower, dragging your tongue now over the head of his cock, sucking on it, lightly.

"That's it, my Padawan, light and wet."

You smile and slide even lower, licking one of his balls then the other, enjoying the musky, salty flavor of sweat and Sam. You suck them lightly in your mouth, making them as wet as you can before starting to move back up.

Sam groans. "Yes, that's it. Get me good and wet. Your tongue feels _so good_."

You let your hunger build. Sam's voice is driving you crazy, and every time you hold yourself back, it makes your mouth water a little more with your hunger to go further than he's asked.

Sam can feel your shoulders vibrating between his legs with the force of your restraint. He strikes your hair gently. "You're so good for me, my Padawan, _so good_. I can feel how much you want to take me in your mouth, suck me hard, let me fuck myself down your throat until I come. You want that, don't you?"

You give his length a long, slow, messy lick. "Yes, Master Winchester. I want that."

"Another time, my Padawan. You're doing so well. I'm so wet for you. Make me as wet for you as you are for me." He feels your hips shudder around his knees, and he swears he can feel your tongue get wetter, like his words are making your mouth water. He feels your tongue get more pliant against his skin as you work to make him slick. "I think you've got it just about right. Give me one more light suck on the head. I just wanna enjoy your mouth for a minute." Sam feels your lips close around the rim, your tongue swirling over the tight skin, questing through his slit, lapping up any precome he gives you like you're starving, while still keeping the suction light. _This is completely perfect. If she keeps this up I'm gonna-._ "Come up here, Padawan and sit on my hips a minute. I need to check your work."

You stalk up his body like a panther and oblige.

Sam reaches behind you, lightly feeling how slick he is with your saliva and then squeezes the base of his cock to ground himself. _I am the luckiest man alive._ "Perfect. Now, move back down over my thighs and spread yourself good and wide around my legs."

You do as he asks, your lower lips eventually spreading as well, the cool air making you aware of how you're dripping from Sam's words, from slicking him up with your mouth. Then Sam's hands cup your ass and slowly drag you forward, pulling you against him, your soaking pussy sliding right against his slick cock. You cry out as the head of his cock drags against your sensitive clit.

"You like that, my Padawan?"

"Oh, _yes_."

"You want more?"

"Definitely _more_ ," You pant.

"Just relax. Lay yourself over me so I can kiss you. I'll take care of us, just do one thing for me." As he's talking, Sam gently rubs you up and down in small motions, stroking your bodies together.

The light, perfect, friction is driving you crazy. You lean down to him, rubbing your lips over his. "Anything."

"Tell me when you're close, but wait to come."

"Sam . . ."

"Trust me."

"I trust you."

Sam pulls you down over and against him, his hands kneading and clutching at your ass, while he grinds you over him, the slick slide of your bodies driving you to the edge. He works you to that edge, once twice, and by the third time, you're frustrated enough to start considering mutiny. Sam sees it in your eyes.

"Easy there, my Padawan. Almost there." Sam grabs the lube and a condom from his bedside drawer and after wrapping himself up and slicking himself up a little more, he slowly, gently slides you down onto his length. You groan in relief feeling yourself stretch around him, then Sam takes a little more lube and rubs a little onto your nipples, and you rub some on his. Sam pulls you down onto him and moves you with his hands so your slicked-up nipples rub together with his, while he gently thrusts into you. The feeling of so many hypersensitive spots all sliding against each other blasts through your pleasure center like lightening and the world goes white again.

When you come back to yourself, you curl around Sam, crashing into sleep fast and hard. "We should do that again tomorrow."

"That list keeps getting longer," Sam teases.

"Good; I never want to finish it. I just want to keep working at it."

Sam kisses the top of your head, moved. "Good night, my Padawan."

You kiss his chest. "Good night, Master Winchester."

* * *

Sam wakes first, feeling both comfortable and a little more sticky than he likes. He debates whether to clean up and come back or stay with you until you wake on your own. _Should I just sneak out? She's exhausted. I don't want to wake her. I'm just going to take a shower and rinse off. Maybe if I'm just really quick about it, I can come back before she wakes up and surprise her with breakfast in bed. That's sweet_.

He slides carefully out of bed, grabs a towel and some clothes, and heads down the hall. A little while later, he finishes rinsing off in the shower, dresses, then makes up a tray of breakfast, and heads back to his room. 

* * *

_♪Start of Time by Gabrielle Aplin♪_

_♪Oh today I'm just a drop of water, and I'm running down a mountainside. Come tomorrow I'll be in the ocean; I'll be rising with the morning tide. There's a ghost upon the moor tonight, now it's in our house. When you walked into the room just then, it's like the sun came out. I'm an atom in a sea of nothing, looking for another to combine. Maybe we could be the start of something, be together at the start of time. There's a ghost upon the moor tonight, now it's in our house. When you walked into the room just then, it's like the sun came out. It's like the sun came out, and the day is clear. My voice is just a whisper, louder than the screams you hear. It's like the sun came out♪_

You wake up alone in Sam's bed. Just as you start telling yourself not to worry, Sam comes in with a tray or something that smells amazing. Seeing you look tense, he puts the tray on his desk and eases back under the covers, pulling you closer at first, nuzzling into your hair. Then he pulls back, looking you in the face. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Your tone is cautious.

Sam looks back at you. “Well, this is embarrassing.”

You glare at him a little. “It is?”

Sam chuckles, chagrined. “Yeah, I must be slipping.”

"Sam . . ." You know he's just teasing you, but still.

"I'm slipping because you're up already. I was planning to get back here with breakfast and give you a wake-up call similar to the one you gave me yesterday."

You grin. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." He kisses you. "I wanted everything this morning to be perfect for you. No freaking out."

"I admit, I missed having you here when I woke up, but it's kind of perfect now."

Sam kisses along the side of your face. "Really?"

"Really. Cuz _you're here_."

"In that case, how about you pretend to be asleep, and I'll show you what I had planned?"

You smile and close your eyes, getting comfortable again on your side. Sam sheds the clothes he'd pulled on after his shower, so he could get breakfast and slides back under the covers. He gently nudges your thighs apart by licking at all the bits of flesh between your thighs that he can reach until you roll over onto your back. Then Sam runs his tongue through your folds.

You can _feel_ him chucking more than hear him. "What's so funny, Winchester?"

"I'm not sure it's funny, more a nice surprise, but you're completely soaked already."

You blush, rolling you eyes. "Well, I was with this _really_ hot guy last night. I guess I still have him on the brain."

"I guess so. I'll see what I can do about stopping all that pesky thinking."

Sam goes back to licking at you, while he starts to gently slide one finger into you. He looks up at you when he feels your hips shift. "You OK?"

You smile. "Yeah. I'm just a little sore, but it's a good sore."

Sam nuzzles your thigh. "You want me to stop? We don't have to . . ."

"Don't you _dare_ stop," you growl.

"Easy there, little dragon." Sam rubs your thigh, soothingly and goes back to licking and sucking gently at your tender flesh. He takes your hand and moves it up to your breast, moving your thumb over your nipple. You lock eyes with him, understanding and start to play with your breasts, while Sam watches and continues to lick and finger you. He moans into you at the sight, while you writhe and squirm playing with your own nipples, and the vibrations just make his tongue feel _that much_ better. You're still loose from the night before, and he works a second finger into you quickly and then a third.

"Sam . . . please."

Sam kisses your inner thigh and then crawls up your body to kiss your mouth. While you're still moaning at the sensation of his lips on yours and your taste on his tongue, Sam rolls you both over so you're straddling him. You lean down, kissing Sam and _feel,_ more than _see,_ his arm reach out to grab another condom. You grind yourself over his length until he has the condom unwrapped. As soon as he has it in place, you start to slide yourself down on him in one slow, steady motion, that makes you both groan in relief. Sam reaches a thumb down where your bodies meet and makes sure your clit rubs against him. Then he moves his hands to your hips, and you start to move against him. Sam's hands match your pace as you ride him. Your body's awake now, but still overly pliant, making you grateful for Sam's hands, helping to ease the motion.

You rock against him and over him, letting the wave build again, letting the hunger rise. His hands stroke up and down your back, possessively, starting to move into your hair. Sam rocks up against you, faster and faster. He can feel you start to flutter around him as he thrusts up into you _harder_ and _faster_ , matching your pace. He pulls you close enough that he can move his face to your breasts, his lips wrapping around one nipple, where he sucks and licks, giving occasional nips. The combination of Sam's mouth on your breast, cock inside you, and your clit rubbing against him, conspire to pull you over the edge. You rub down harder on him as you come, and Sam's not far behind you, thrusting up into you a few more times before he comes inside you, pulling you closer to him.

While you're both coming down, Sam rolls you both on your side and then cleans you both up. He pulls you close, stroking your hair, while you curl against him. He kisses your forehead, while his hand languidly strokes you from shoulder to thigh.

"That was the _perfect_ way to wake up, Sam," you pant, catching your breath.

"Agreed; I think you should wake up in here more often."

"Me too." Your stomach rumbles, and his stomach seems to rumble back.

You both laugh, and Sam rubs your belly. "You want some breakfast, little dragon?"

"Yes, please." 

Sam brings the tray over, and you both sit in his bed enjoying breakfast. The food's a little cool, but the coffee is at least warm, if not hot. You both exchange little touches of fingers and glances, while you eat. Sam seems to be thinking rather hard after a little while.

"What are you chewing on Sam, other than toast?"

"Tell me something."

"Sure."

"That first night you came to my room with nightmares on your heels, you could have gone to Kevin. His room is right next to yours, and you two were close, closer than we were at that point. My room is on the other side of the bunker. Why did you come to me?"

"By then, you'd been there for me before, when I had nightmares, and Kevin wasn't on the hunt. He didn't know what happened; you did even if you didn't know what it meant to me, that mattered. You make me feel protected in a way that Kevin can't. You're the one that has my back in a fight or on a hunt."

"Or in a bar fight . . . ?"

You give him a wry smile. "We do seem to be getting into a lot of those lately. I don't remember playing pool being so dangerous." You pause, deciding to say the rest of what you've always wanted to say. "You were kind to me when you had no reason to be, when you didn't really know me, owed me nothing, and I acted afraid of you. You were still kind to me even though I did so much to _not_ deserve it."

Sam rubs a free hand over yours. "It wasn't about you deserving it; I wanted to be there for you."

"Even then?"

"Even then. Why do you think I was down in your hallway that night I first came into your room? I wanted to try to convince you that you didn't need to avoid me."

"Thus began our dance. I guess I was right about fooling myself, not the way I thought, but I sure feel like a fool now."

"Yeah, well, you had your reasons." Sam puts the now empty tray aside and then pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you. "I'm glad you came into my bed."

"I wanted to be in it before that."

"I wanted _you there_ before that."

You sigh heavily. "Now that I know all the missing pieces, I feel like I should have known how you felt."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, I keep thinking back to that first morning when we woke up together . . . If I just hadn't let my fears get the better of me . . . We really got our wires crossed."

He holds you a little closer in his arms, rubbing his hands over your arms reassuringly. "We did, but we're good now."

"We are." You kiss him slowly, putting _everything_ you feel into it.

Sam whispers in your ear. "How did I get so lucky?"

Rather than take the question the way Sam means it, you consider it seriously, thinking back over everything from the last couple years. "Kevin."

He pulls back a little, eyebrows raised. "Kevin?"

"Sure. Kevin is why you called Garth and met me. Kevin told _me_ how you feel and told _you_ how I feel."

Sam rubs his nose into your hair amused by your logic. "Huh. I should get Kevin something."

" _We_ should. I'd say we should get him a girlfriend, but he's doing really well on that front. As it turns out, Kevin has more game than we do. I feel like Dean owes us on a bet or something."

Sam nods amicably, feeling very content with life at the moment. "Maybe; either way, I feel lucky."

You let his words and his warmth surrounding you sink in, thinking about every time you had shared a bed with him before as friends or as hunters. If you were honest with yourself, right from the very beginning, you wanted it to be more. Now, it's more than you really believed it could be. "Hey Sam?" You reach your hand out, threading your fingers through his.

"Yeah?" Sam folds his fingers through yours, holding your hand in his.

"I feel pretty damn lucky too."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a personal note, I loved doing this even when it drove me crazy. I tried to keep the characters true to the characters they are on the show and the people they might have been in my AU where this one other person is in their lives. I hope that worked out.
> 
> I kinda hate to see it end, but I feel good about where it cut. That said, you may notice that there was a place this story did not touch on. Let me know if you catch it. I hope you like how things wrapped up. Let me know. :) I re-read things through to make sure I tied up all my loose ends, but if I missed anything … I might have to write a timestamp. Can’t have those loose threads running wild and tripping people up so let me know :) Still debating some options on the S& B ‘verse. I’ve considered timestamps, a prequel, a couple sequels, … or some combination of those. But for now, I think I’ll see where the interest is, how you all like the ending to this arc, and I have a few smaller unfinished things to post over the next few months in between work and vacations and other projects. There will be a message from Sam on my tumblr feed http://ladyataralasse.tumblr.com/about my next piece in another week or so and later on about what I decide for S&B. I think they'll be some one-shots for the next few months that I've made notes about. Mostly keeping my summer fic load light so I can work on another bigger project offsite, but there'll be more SPN fic.


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